


Learning Our Names

by irisbleufic



Series: Delicate, Dangerous, Obsessed [18]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Canon Autistic Character, Canon Queer Character, Canon Queer Relationship, Catharsis, Consensual Kink, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Family History, Family Secrets, Friendship, Honeymoon, Intrigue, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Murder Husbands, POV Edward Nygma, POV Oswald Cobblepot, Psychopaths In Love, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Slice of Life, Travel, Unconventional Families, Villains, Weird Fluff, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-07 13:30:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11624541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: “The best-laid of my kind, for both mice and men, oft go awry,” said Edward, moodily. “What am I?”“You said we need to be cleverer than our enemies,” Oswald soothed. “Yourplan just might be.”[Picks up whereWYFIR'verse ficletUnrelentingleaves off; readable as a stand-alone, but designed to have more depth if you read the preceding stories.  The riddle in #2 is, as with many others in this universe, one that I wrote; riddles in the third and fourth postcards of #4 are also mine.]





	1. Transitional Arrangements

Edward slapped the Silversea Cruises booklet on the coffee table, apprehensive as Selina, at the dining table with Ivy and Bridgit, continued to chatter in response to Oswald's questions. He picked up his favorite cup and saucer, which Olga had brought in on a dessert tray minutes before.

“Relax, Pengs,” Selina went on, shoving a forkful of oven-warm custard pie into her mouth. “It's not like we were asking him what you guys get up to behind closed doors or anything. Trust me when I say we don't wanna know.”

“Nice try,” Oswald said, uncrossing his legs, encouraging Edward to inch closer to him on the sofa. He sipped his tea before setting it back on the coffee table, trading cup and saucer for the Silversea booklet even as he passed the Crystal Cruises packet off to Edward. “One of you _will_ tell me.”

“Or you'll what?” Bridgit asked, her mouth as full as Selina's. She gulped half her coffee down scalding, eyebrows raised, before taking another bite of pie. “Hire Fish as our full-time nanny?”

Edward opened the Crystal folder and pulled out the accommodations-relevant booklet, already armed with some information he'd gleaned from the internet. “Unfortunately,” he chimed in, with bitter sarcasm, “it won't be me. I have no memory of what I said while under the influence.”

“Fish might as well already be our nanny,” Ivy groused, sloppily swilling whatever hot drink she'd asked Olga to bring her. “ _Fine_. We asked him a buncha stuff about when he was a kid.”

Edward, stomach clenched, stuck his finger between two pages. He was relieved to note that Oswald was lowering his booklet with cool restraint, which tended to precede righteous fury.

“If you know what's good for you,” said Oswald, with the kind of playful, yet menacing sarcasm that rarely boded well for anyone, “you won't wear it again while Ed's at yours. Or when you're here.”

“Okay, fine,” Ivy muttered, grabbing her fork. “Not on my skin. But I wear the amphora everywhere.”

“I have to wonder why you were wearing it at all,” Oswald parried, relentless. “We had agreed yesterday's visit was for informational purposes of the non-interrogative variety.”

“Jeez _Louise_ ,” Selina griped, swinging her knees over the arm of Oswald's chair. “It's 'cause she smells pretty. Easy for her to forget _not_ to put some on when it's just the three of us.”

“Constantly inducing your housemates into honesty,” Edward mused, glancing at Ivy. “Clever.”

“It's not like that,” Bridgit insisted, pinching Selina's calf until she put her legs down. “She wouldn't.”

“Then what's it like?” Oswald asked, tapping his imaginary wristwatch. “I haven't got all evening, and your ride's going to be here sooner than you realize. Ms. Fowler is in a _mood_. Out with it.”

Ivy groaned around a forkful of pie. “I made this tincture,” she explained, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “We've been testing it for like a week. Cat and Bridgit have been taking it.” She cringed when Selina rolled her eyes in disappointment, their cover blown. “It makes you immune.”

“Fascinating,” Edward murmured, flipping the booklet open again, determined to show Oswald what was at the spot he'd marked. “Reminds me of _Rappacini's Daughter_.”

“Oh, I'll be working on stuff for immunity to poison next,” Ivy reassured him, visibly relaxing.

“I'm surprised you've read that,” Edward remarked. “Above your grade-level, I would've tho—”

“I'll only explain this once,” Oswald cut in, draping his arm across Edward's shoulders, as if the point were even necessary. “Zsasz will never loan us the services of his in-house physician again if you interfere with Edward's treatment. I'm no chemist, but I have the feeling your concoctions might interact badly with medication. What was it you said about hellebore—it's psychotropic?”

“Yeah, and so's like every other plant I put in the mix,” said Ivy, rolling her eyes. “ _Duh_.”

Edward wanted to say _There isn't sufficient data on how quetiapine reacts in combination with certain botanicals_ , but he kept his mouth shut. He fetched his tea and leaned against Oswald, flipping through a few more pages one-handed. _Besides, I suspect I'll need clozapine._

“Doc Kali's good,” Bridgit said, restlessly mashing her custard pie. “She's helped with my skin.”

“Silversea doesn't meet my requirements for your comfort,” Edward said, hoping to get Oswald's attention, tapping the images in his lap. “But this does. Heated tile, and the shower has a bench.”

“The question is whether Crystal meets _my_ requirements for _you_ ,” Oswald reminded him. “That's the premier penthouse onboard the _Serenity_ , isn't it? How many passengers?”

“A thousand and seventy,” said Edward, chewing his lip. He knew what Oswald was going to say.

“With Silversea, I can pull strings and get us on the _Cloud_. Max capacity of three hundred.”

“Two hundred and ninety-six,” Edward corrected. “But I don't _want_ to go to Scandinavia.”

“Beggars can't be choosers,” Ivy interjected, turning in her chair. “You'll kinda be under ship-arrest.”

“Yikes, that's harsh,” said Bridgit, before Edward could think of something to say in self-defense.

“You might wanna risk a bigger boat,” Selina suggested. “More stuff to do. He won't get as bored.”

Olga walked in to check on them just as Oswald found it necessary to restrain Edward from rising.

“Chit-chat's over,” Oswald called to her, keeping Edward pinned firmly against his side. “Please see our guests outside and wait with them until Ms. Fowler returns with the car.”

“No manners,” Olga huffed, roughly tugging Oswald's chair out from the table, all but dumping Selina on the floor. “Meeting over dinner was more than you deserve. Get back home to dodgy DIY.”

Edward felt a measure of vindictive satisfaction as Selina brushed herself off and glared at Oswald.

“Hey, the bathroom's _done_ ,” Ivy said, getting up in a hurry fit to match Bridgit's. “The place is looking good, Pengy. Even Fish says so. You should come with Ed next time, maybe—”

“Would you shut your yap,” Bridgit muttered, grabbing her friends by the wrists. “Later, Mr. Cobblepot,” she said, nodding to Oswald and Edward in turn. “Mr. Nygma. Ms. Agapova, thanks.”

Edward watched Olga follow the trio out, noting only too late that two of the three teacups were gone.

“Oh dear,” he sighed, tucking his legs under himself even as Oswald slid his hand down Edward's side to curl it around his hip. “I don't think Vee brought back the mug you told me she took, either.”

“What's a few pieces of dishware,” Oswald said, fingertips light against Edward's cheek as he turned Edward to face him. “Or an antique sewing machine, for that matter?”

“You do tend to offer benefits tailored to your employees' interests,” Edward said agreeably.

“If I assent to the _Serenity_ and its ideal accommodations,” Oswald said, brushing his lips against Edward's as he spoke, “then you'll be checking in with Kali every seventy-two hours.”

“Once a week!” protested Edward, indignant. “That's the arrangement. You thought it was—”

“Fourteen days and eight different ports, during which stops I'll have to keep even _closer_ tabs on you than I will on the ship?” Oswald reminded him, running his thumb over the umbrella engraving on Edward's wedding band. “Not to mention the hell you'll be in if the ship's full of partiers.”

“I thought the idea was we'd spend as little time mingling as possible,” said Edward, and kissed him.

“You know I'll make sure we dine out,” Oswald replied, shoving the booklet off Edward's lap. He slid his hand exactly where Edward wanted it, reassurance he hadn't fallen prey to at least _one_ possible side-effect. “Investigate the lounges, maybe take in a show or two...”

“Investigation's what I used to do,” Edward pouted, heart-rate spiking as Oswald unzipped his trousers and insinuated several teasing fingers. “I want a change of pace, Oswald.”

“I'm going to the trouble of suites for our security detail,” Oswald said, idly caressing him. “Caroline and her other half deserve something...slightly more extravagant than Gabe, of course.”

“Almost won't...be the same without Zsasz,” Edward gasped, letting his head fall back against the cushion. He savored the feel of Oswald's hand on him, noting how the equal and opposite engraving on Oswald's ring made him shiver if it rubbed at his skin just _so_.

Oswald calmly withdrew his hand as the front door slammed and Olga's steady footsteps approached.

Closing his eyes, Edward nosed his way into Oswald's collar, curling fully into Oswald's side. He'd learned to give over to Oswald's protection, to take pleasure in calls as close as this one.

“I have brought back stolen cups,” he heard Olga sigh before she set them on the dining table.

“You won't think poorly of us for leaving you behind, will you, Olga?” Oswald asked, resting his cheek against Edward's temple. “There's full service onboard. No BYOB, so to speak.”

“Is all right,” Olga replied, the clatter suggesting she'd begun to stack plates. “Even butlers need holiday. I will go and visit Sveta. Learn to make jam from cactus, maybe get a tan. Indecent,” she chided. “Take the show upstairs.”

Edward opened his eyes and bit at Oswald's neck, making him stammer. Punishment went both ways.

“Yes, of—of course, go see your niece,” Oswald managed, grabbing his cane, dislodging Edward as he got to his feet. He turned and offered Edward his hand, pulling him up. “I'm sure you read there's a sailing date for the Vineyards & Vistas option this weekend. It's probably wait-listed.”

“I'd like to see a wait-list stop you from getting us onboard,” Edward goaded, letting Oswald drag him down the hall at a ferocious pace. “Especially seeing as we haven't yet had a proper honeymoon, _and_ this coming Sunday is Valentine's Day.”

By then, they were halfway up the staircase. Oswald stopped dead, as if he hadn't realized the latter.

“Swear you won't make me regret this, Edward,” he said. “It's only been ten days since I freed you.”

“What gets broken without being held?” Edward asked, realizing the riddle's wording was ill-chosen.

“If that's your way of saying you promise, then you'd _better_ not break it,” Oswald cautioned.

Edward drew Oswald's hand to his lips so that he could kiss the question-mark engraving on his ring.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald studied his wardrobe selections critically, fingering one suit after another as he made a circuit around the bed. One for each day they'd be gone would have meant around twenty, but he could recall what it meant, at heart, to be a pragmatist.

Besides, the _Serenity_ even had onboard dry-cleaning.

“Forty-eight hours and thirty thousand dollars later,” said Fish, arms folded across her chest as she shadowed him, “you've secured the last available penthouse and two cozy little cabins. You almost make me wish I was going. While the Penguin's away, _this_ Fish will play. Instructions?”

“You're the best border-guard I've ever had,” said Oswald, smugly, spinning to face her. “But then, I don't need to tell you that. All traffic and trade in and out of the city is as good as your jurisdiction, so do what you always _used_ to do and extend your force inward. I don't want to be bothered unless it's an absolute emergency, and I'm sure you of all people know what one looks like.”

“Oswald, to see your heart so turned by this _reckless_ boy,” she murmured, not finishing the thought. “I can still run this city in my sleep. You know it. Come the day somebody takes you down, I'll fill the void in your wake like you filled it in mine. I'll take care of Gotham. You have my word.”

“I can't tell you how refreshing it is that we see eye to eye,” said Oswald, kissing her proffered hand. “Sometimes I think about what things might have been like if you'd had the sense to promote me.”

“Back then, you weren't promotion material,” Fish reminded him, her smile a sheathed knife. “Yet.”

“I haven't had the chance to tell you, but now's as good a time as any,” said Oswald, casually, heading over to the dressing table so he could select a handful of cufflinks. “When Edward learned which of my injuries you inflicted, his first reaction was a _fierce_ desire to kill you. Isn't that sweet?”

“Adorable,” Fish said, shaking her head in refusal at the first pair Oswald held up for her to consider. “The two of you have questionable ideas about what constitutes a romantic gesture. Let's leave it at that.”

“Almost nothing makes Ed happier than when we have the chance to kill together,” Oswald mused, picking through the pairs he'd dumped in his hand. “I've insisted we scale it back. He's _too_ excitable.”

“He hasn't even been on those pills for two weeks,” Fish said warily, rings glittering as she rearranged her hair in front of Oswald's triptych mirror. “What makes Victor's battle medic think she knows psych meds? I had a look through Edward's Arkham file. Kali's got him on an exceptionally high dose of a drug that had mixed results on him while he was a patient. She should've gone straight for the atypical anti-psychotic. The one that starts with a C instead of a Q.” She side-eyed Oswald meaningfully. “We both know what the wrong meds can do. I understand circumspection, going through the motions, but—untreated, _improperly_ treated? Your darling little monster's a live wire.”

“The key to all of this being, he _is_ mine,” Oswald agreed, plucking his six favorite pairs, Fish's reject included, into the velvet-lined leather travel case. “And I've accepted the responsibility.”

“He must be a damn good lay,” said Fish, sardonically, turning back to him, “for you to be so attached.”

“Lacking points of comparison,” Oswald snapped, “I don't give a _damn_ what kind of lay he is.”

Fish paused for a moment, inclining her head toward the wall. “Sounds like he's having fun down there with your driver and your sharpshooter. You'd better hope their fashion sense is as good as mine.”

“I'm hands-off in that department at this point,” Oswald said. “I can buy him things, both surprises and with his consultation, but where day-to-day dress is concerned...he's best left to his own devices.”

“One of these days, he'll find a shade that gouges somebody's eyes out,” Fish remarked indulgently.

“I have no doubt he'll pack all his worst and brightest,” Oswald sighed. “Despite Caroline's best efforts.”

“You shouldn't have let the housekeeper leave yesterday,” Fish said. “Isn't this kind of thing her job?”

“Olga hasn't had a significant break since she started working for me,” Oswald insisted, “although she gets the odd day or two off on a weekly basis. She hasn't seen Svetlana in almost a year.”

“Didn't know they had Russian mob in Albuquerque,” Fish sighed, pulling one of the side-chairs over so she could sit beside Oswald at the dressing table. “Anyhow, you wanted to talk about the girls?”

“Ed was accidentally dosed with Ivy's perfume,” Oswald explained. “And they did what teenagers do.”

“I'm willing to bet there's some murky shit in Edward's past,” Fish said. “More than you even know.”

“I know very little about his parents and what happened to them,” Oswald admitted, setting the travel case aside. “I know their names, and I know what public record has to say about their deaths.”

“Let me tell you a bedtime story,” Fish said, propping her elbows on the back of the chair. “It's about a car accident in the spring of two thousand and eight. From the sound of things, you've already read about it. Edward Nygma was just finishing his sophomore year at Gotham University.”

“As I understand it, Ed's life got less stressful with his parents out of the picture,” Oswald replied.

“There was some speculation about the circumstances. Double suicide, maybe, or something darker.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn't paying much attention to the news. I was twenty-four and working two jobs.”

“Fortuitous that I got you out of that awful situation about a year and a half later, then, wasn't it?”

“My mother was grateful,” Oswald remarked, sinking into reminiscence. “She got to see more of me.”

“You were grateful, too, Oswald,” Fish reminded him, lips wistfully quirked. “Or so you always said.”

“Let's not dwell too much on what it was like when we were young and foolish,” Oswald muttered.

He sorted through his travel-size cologne decants while Fish laughed and _laughed_ , opting for his Creed and Santa Maria Novella scents. Edward favored those four above the rest. Fish stopped laughing as the bedroom door opened, meeting Edward's haughty gaze with her own.

“I heard Gabe come up the stairs, but I didn't know it was to escort you in,” Edward remarked. He was uncharacteristically dressed down, tie absent and shirt untucked; Oswald wanted to beckon him over, pull him into his lap, ask his opinion on the cufflinks and cologne. “Am I interrupting?”

“No, my love,” Oswald reassured him, setting the priceless vials aside. “We were just finishing up.”

“You won't have to trouble yourself with any thoughts of home,” Fish said. “I'll be taking care of it.”

Edward nodded, right hand fidgeting at his side: telltale running of index and middle fingernails over the pad of his thumb. “Yes, I'm aware,” he said. “Oswald told me he'd be briefing you.”

“Then you shouldn't be surprised to see me here,” said Fish, rising, looking him up and down on her way to the door. “But then, time flies when you're distracted and having fun. Good evening, Ed.”

“To you, too, Ms. Mooney,” Edward managed, stepping aside to let her pass. “Gabe will see you out.”

“I'll see my own self out,” Fish insisted, blowing a kiss at Oswald over her shoulder. “ _Bon voyage._ ”

“Paris isn't one of our ports of call, is it,” Edward said, making his way to Oswald now that Oswald's arms were wide open and they had the room to themselves. “That makes me sad.”

“No, but we have an overnight stop in Bordeaux during the first week and a day-stop in Cassis before we end with Monte Carlo,” Oswald said, tugging Edward to stand between his thighs. “How's that?”

“We should go north by land after the cruise,” Edward murmured, wrapping his arms around Oswald's shoulders, content to be pulled close. “Make stops in Germany and Hungary. For your mother.”

Oswald gritted his teeth, realizing Edward had a point. But so much could go wrong, so _much_ —

“Let's see how you fare at sea first,” said Oswald, decisively. “If all goes well there, perhaps we will.”


	2. Can't Take You Anywhere

Tapping Oswald's pen against his lips, Edward flipped to the crossword in the issue of _People_ that Gabriel had brought from the newsstand across from their gate. He'd been hoping for the copy of that morning's _Gazette_ (which they hadn't had time to read at home thanks to packing endeavors interrupted by a visit from Fish), but Oswald had claimed it before he could call dibs.

“I don't know why they call this the _Puzzler_ ,” Edward muttered. “I can solve it at a glance.”

“Then I have no idea why you picked my pocket,” Oswald said, snatching the pen away from him.

“Gabe went to the trouble of bringing us reading material,” said Edward, flipping several more pages forward. “I figured it would at least be polite to make the attempt.”

“You don't need a pen to read,” Oswald replied, tucking the costly writing utensil inside his jacket. “No matter _how_ much you enjoy defacing photos of celebrities you dislike.”

Edward pursed his lips, momentarily too abashed to respond. To his left, Caroline and Vee—each dressed in her particular version of civilian garb, an outlandish sight—conversed quietly.

“Not the smartest thing he's ever done,” Vee was saying. “Letting a bunch of teenage girls house-sit.”

“Does three count as a bunch?” Caroline asked. “They can handle themselves. Zsasz is on call.”

“How much do you want to bet we're missing the _real_ party?” Vee said under her breath, shooting Edward an inquisitive glance over her coffee cup. “Everything okay, Mr. N?”

“Never better,” replied Edward, letting his eyes fall back on the magazine. He gasped at what he saw on the page to which he'd absently turned, restlessly tapping the image. “ _Oswald_.”

Oswald grimaced, lowering the _Gazette_. His eyes chased Edward's fingertips across their likeness: a photograph, tucked in the lower corner of a two-page spread, taken without their knowledge.

“I hate to shatter your fragile illusion of privacy,” he sighed, covering Edward's hand with his own, “but this isn't the first time that's happened since my interview with Hearst.”

Edward frowned, shifting their hands away from the photograph so that he could further analyze it.

“That's from Sunday,” he said, noting the blurb called them _former Gotham Mayor Oswald Cobblepot and partner Edward Nygma_. “Outside the club, when you announced we're the new management.”

“You may not have noticed, but almost everyone waiting to board this flight has stared at us at least once,” Oswald said, tugging the magazine out of Edward's lap, tossing it to the floor along with the newspaper. He kissed the back of Edward's hand. “I thought you enjoyed notoriety.”

“Yes and no,” Edward admitted. “Yes, insofar as I'm finally recognized as _someone_ in Gotham; no, insofar as the GCPD are just gagging for an explicit reason to drag me in.”

“See?” Oswald said, fetching his cane from where he'd propped it against the arms of their uncomfortable lounge chairs. “Another reason we're going away for a little while.”

As the first-class boarding announcement sounded, Gabriel got up from the seat he occupied to Oswald's right. He handed their passports back to Oswald, tired of playing document-holder.

“And to think neither one of you had these when boss took office,” he said with a hint of nostalgia.

“Fortunate, that I applied on behalf of both of us after he was sworn in,” Edward snapped, snatching them out of Gabriel's hand. “We don't need these for boarding. They were only required at security.”

Oswald took them away from Edward, sighing heavily. Those, too, he tucked in his jacket. He took their tickets from Gabriel with a curt nod.

“You might have gone far in politics given a chance,” he said, getting to his feet, offering Edward his arm. “Your attention to detail is second to none. But Ed, _please_ let it go. Come on.”

Edward, forgetting himself, attempted to drag Oswald ahead so that they could get in line, but Oswald held him back until Gabriel could take his place just ahead of them. Glancing back over his shoulder, he was relieved to see Caroline and Vee, their usual wary selves, bringing up the rear.

Traveling without weapons would be trying for everyone. However, Oswald had sufficient contacts in England, France, Spain, and Monaco that firearms would be waiting onshore in those particular locations.

Edward clutched his ticket with jittery fingers, impatient behind Gabriel and Oswald as the airline attendant scanned them through. When it was his turn, he handed his ticket to the visibly spooked young man, trawling his mind for apt chit-chat as his earlier quetiapine dose began to wear off.

“In my absence, fonder grows the heart,” said Edward, cheerfully, as the scanner beeped. “In my presence, return to the start. What am I?”

“Um,” said the attendant, eyes darting from Edward's name on the ticket to nervously meet Edward's gaze. “I don't have the foggiest. Enjoy your flight to London, sir.”

“That can't be true,” Edward replied. “Here's a hint: you deal with _hundreds_ of the answer daily.”

The attendant paled, swallowing. “Well—listen, I'd love to solve it, but I'm afraid you're holding up—”

“You're _a traveler_ ,” Oswald snapped, determined to spoil Edward's fun. “We get it, Ed. Move!”

Edward stumbled down the jetway as Oswald dragged him by the elbow, aware that Vee and Caroline kept a safe distance behind him. He didn't try to interact with the attendant who, at the plane entrance, perused their tickets and directed them to the first pair of plush first-row seats on the left-hand side. First-class evidently _did_ have its fabled perks.

Gabriel was already seated in the single seat directly behind them. Meanwhile, an attendant directed Caroline and Vee to the pair of seats across the aisle and behind them at a diagonal.

Edward leaned over to buckle Oswald's seatbelt for him, which earned him an irritated glare. Finished with the belt, he caught Oswald's face in both hands, leaning in for a feather-unruffling kiss.

“We're going to have a _blast_ ,” he gushed, hoping that Oswald's retaliation, rather rougher-than-necessary fastening of Edward's belt, meant he'd won Oswald over. “Is this your first time on a plane?”

“One this size, anyway,” Oswald said, loosening his belt as far as it would go. “I've been on a much smaller craft, privately-owned. While I was still in the mob's employ. It was...unpleasant.”

“I've never flown at all,” Edward admitted, rifling through the wall-pocket directly in front of him until he came up with a sickness bag. “So I don't really know how it will affect me.”

“I already know I don't get seasick,” Oswald admitted, contemplative as he eyed the bag. “I've been on a handful of boats in the river and harbor. “However, I might...” He snatched the bag.

“A commercial airliner might not affect you like a charter did,” said Edward, encouragingly, digging the second bag out of the pocket in front of Oswald. “ _I'm_ a blank slate. Insufficient data.”

“We're stuck here for the next six hours and thirty minutes,” Oswald warned. “I suggest we sleep.”

“It isn't quite eight in the evening,” Edward muttered. “Don't think I can. At least not till my next—”

“Champagne, Mr. Cobblepot?” asked an attendant, not one of the two Brits who'd ushered them onboard. Her affability and Gotham-distinct accent suggested that she might have been one of Oswald's more devoted constituents during his brief tenure as mayor.

Oswald grinned at her, and then glanced at Edward. “If I remember, you're allowed to drink?”

“Yep,” Edward replied, fishing the pill-bottle out of his pocket, scanning the warnings. “No contraindications, except that the combination may make me exceptionally tired.”

“Two glasses now, please, and another two as soon as we've reached cruising altitude,” Oswald said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“What _else_ is especially unusual about the Airbus 321-200,” Edward prattled on, swilling what remained of his third glass, “is the first-class seating pattern you see here. Back each row, you get two seats and then one, two seats and then one—”

“Did you, like, look that up on the internet or something before we left?” Caroline asked, leaning hard on her armrest, so worn-out she almost tipped into the aisle. To her left, Vee slept soundly.

“He looked _all_ this shit up before we left,” Oswald slurred, leaning across a dismayed Edward's lap in order to answer her. “If you let him keep going, he might even produce a blueprint.”

“In the event of a systems failure, I'd like to know what I'm dealing with,” replied Edward, offended.

“Jesus,” Caroline sighed. “Don't start with that, okay? Boss losin' his dinner was bad enough.”

“Why don't _you_ try controlling your body's involuntary responses,” Oswald snapped, absolutely dying for a cigarette, wondering when that had ceased to be permissible. “See how it works out.”

“British Airways has averaged one major crash every five to ten years since the mid-seventies,” offered Edward, leaning so that his cheek rested between Oswald's shoulder blades. “Seeing as their most recent was on the eighth of September last year, we ought to be safe.”

“I'm gonna nope right out of this conversation,” said Caroline, sitting back in her seat, pointedly tugging her sleep-mask down over her eyes. “Sleep well, Mr. C,” she added. “You too, Ed.”

Oswald disentangled himself from Edward and sat back in his seat. He took Edward's champagne glass out of Edward's hand and downed the remainder, shoving it into the pocket in front of him.

“I wasn't done with that,” Edward protested, slouching sideways against Oswald's shoulder. “Killjoy.”

“I want you to go the fuck to sleep,” Oswald told him, eyes half-lidded. “Not drink yourself to death.”

“Not my fault the dose hasn't fully kicked in,” Edward groused, nuzzling Oswald's neck. “Too soon.”

“It's been a little over a week since you started,” said Oswald, drowsily, stroking Edward's hair. “To my knowledge, you haven't had any...incidents? Tell me you've been honest with me and Dr. Kali.”

“I solemnly swear I've hallucinated _nothing_ since I was in the Court cage,” Edward said.

“What was it about the exchange with Bruce that snapped you out of it, do you think?” Oswald asked.

“I already told you,” yawned Edward, shrugging. “We distracted each other. He asked me to sing.”

“You've been specific about the folk song,” Oswald went on, “but as far as topics of conversation...”

“Oh,” Ed mumbled, eyes drifting shut, finally on a slumber-ward spiral. “He was praying. I knew it.”

Oswald opened his eyes wide, turning his cheek against the top of Edward's head. “You knew what?”

“The prayer,” Edward explained faintly, rambling as he drowsed. “ _Shehecheyanu_. Hebrew.”

 _Religion is a whole other kettle of fish_ , Oswald thought, Edward's curious utterance on the day of their wedding distinct in his memory. He examined it in light of this startling revelation.

“Huh,” was all that Oswald could bring himself to say, too champagne-muddled for further comment.

“Don't remember much else,” Edward mumbled. “Mother was never forthcoming. About anything.”

“The newspaper articles I found didn't say anything about memorial services,” Oswald ventured.

Edward hummed. “No living relatives,” he managed. “All down to me, so...there weren't any.”

Oswald pressed a somber kiss against Edward's forehead, in a fit of affection and drunken pity.

“It's not like I blame you,” he murmured. “I made no gesture for my mother except the statue.”

“Yours was a saint,” Edward replied, tensing in Oswald's embrace. “Mine, not so much.”

“I have some more questions for you, but not now,” Oswald reassured him. “Darling, rest.”

On waking with a crick in his neck, Oswald was able to determine by Edward's wrist-watch that they'd slept around four hours.

Gabriel was awake and reading _People_ by harsh overhead light. Vee and Caroline, on the other hand, were engaged in a peevish game of War using Olga's playing cards. Edward dozed through the boxed-breakfast service, refusing to sit up and eat when Oswald shook him.

Shortly thereafter, Oswald filled out landing cards for both of them. Knowing that they were recognizable by trans-Atlantic standards was both flattering and cause for anxiety. He wondered if anyone had alerted Scotland Yard—or even Interpol, come to it—of their approach.

“Ed,” Oswald whispered, reading the card he'd completed on Edward's behalf. “About your last—”

“I assure you that the fact it's on both our wedding certificate and my passport makes it legal,” Edward muttered, yawning. “I changed it as soon as they were in the ground. Made it a priority, in fact.”

“I can understand why you didn't want either of their names as a souvenir,” replied Oswald, relieved.

Edward sat up, rubbed his eyes, and pulled apart the top of his breakfast box. “Spreadable cheese?”

“Don't touch the stuff, it's vile,” Oswald said vehemently. “I'll get you something in the airport.”

“Nashton is Anglo-Irish,” said Edward, mechanically. “Derivative of Ashton. Which is traceable to Ashton-under-Lyne in Lancashire, but I digress. Grateful I always did look more like my mother.”

“There are worse states of affairs,” Oswald said, pushing open the window. “I have my mother's eyes.”

“Dark hair from your father, as I've previously observed,” Edward replied, leaning over to breathe warmly against Oswald's earlobe. “But there's no denying where your beauty comes from.”

“I remember doing my name-change paperwork,” Oswald blurted, shivering at the brief catch of Edward's teeth. “Ed, _stop_. Mother was offended at first. Said I was forgetting my roots.”

“I think this drug does to me the opposite of what it does to some people,” Edward said sheepishly.

“No, you're just like to that to begin with,” said Oswald, swatting playfully at Edward's hand on his thigh. “Not that I consider it a flaw under most circumstances, _believe_ me, but—”

“You can't take me anywhere?” Edward supplied, gasping in delight at the sight of land far below.


	3. Going Overboard

“Here's another reason getting married was expedient,” Edward yawned, shuffling along beside Oswald, displeased that even the fast-track customs line was backlogged. “They'll let us go up together.”

“Will they extend the same courtesy to our colleagues?” Oswald asked, peering inquisitively at Vee and Caroline, who were up next. He looked relieved to see Gabriel, ahead of them, had been cleared.

“It helps that the customs officers don't know those three are our entourage,” Edward pointed out, tucking Oswald's arm over his own as the customs officer, a young black woman who couldn't have been more than twenty, asked Caroline and Vee stern, yet dispassionate questions.

“Can you do me a favor, Ed?” Oswald asked, leaning especially hard on his cane. “A big one?”

“Anything,” Edward said, watching the young woman heavily stamp Vee's and Caroline's passports.

Oswald drew their passports and landing cards out of his jacket, squeezing Edward's hand tightly.

“Next in line,” said the officer, in an accent that reminded Edward of Rose in _Doctor Who_.

“Good,” Oswald said in a hushed tone. “Let me do the talking. Don't say anything unless she asks you for clarification, understood?”

“Roger that,” Edward agreed, wondering with medication-detached curiosity if they'd be detained.

“Passports, please,” said the officer, looking sleepy, extending her ringed hand across the counter.

“With pleasure,” Oswald said mildly, handing them over, impassive as the officer's eyes widened.

What happened next, Edward was one-hundred percent certain didn't exist in UKBA regulations.

The officer stared at Oswald's passport, at Oswald, and then back at the passport. She blinked.

“Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot,” she read in blank disbelief. “ _The_ Oswald Cobblepot?”

Oswald's grip on Edward's arm suggested it would take all of his restraint not to respond with sarcasm.

“My name is exactly what it says on the document,” he said flatly. “The same with my husband's.”

“Your hus—” The officer cut herself off, frantically flipping Edward's passport open. “ _Really_.”

“Yes, that's me,” Edward confirmed, realizing she was so badly off-script she'd need nudging back on.

Oswald elbowed Edward in the ribs, sharp and quick enough to cause him to draw an unsteady breath.

The officer stared back and forth between them, dazedly nodding. “What's the reason for your visit?”

“Tourism,” said Oswald, with a self-deprecating, matter-of-fact air. “This is our belated honeymoon.”

“No kidding, mate,” said the officer, under her breath, words almost too rushed to make out. She stamped their passports in haste, tucking the landing cards back inside. “Take these to that gent over there,” she continued, recovering her composure. “Welcome to the UK. Next in line!”

Edward didn't start to feel lightheaded until after they had handed off the cards and made their way into the baggage-claim area, where Gabriel had already piled up their combined luggage. Sinking down on one of his suitcases was only a wise idea insofar as his ears stopped ringing.

“Ed,” Oswald said softly, leaning to peer down at him, free hand on Edward's shoulder. “What is it?”

“I read up on their interrogation tactics and everything,” Edward said. “All that work for nothing.”

“Many of your recent endeavors fit that description, but let's not argue,” replied Oswald, kissing Edward's forehead even though Edward was _sure_ one of their fellow passengers had just snapped a picture. “Thanks to the reservation we have tonight and tomorrow night, the Ritz is sending a car. Complimentary service from Heathrow to the hotel in a Rolls-Royce Phantom, how's that sound?”

“So unbelievable that I wonder whether or not the drugs are working right now,” Edward admitted.

“That's the last of it, boss,” said Gabriel, heaving a set of suitcases off the belt in swift succession.

“For as much as you slept on the plane, you don't look so hot,” Caroline observed, snatching them.

“Why not just stick 'em on the cart,” Vee complained. “Hey, Mr. N? Gabe's gonna need your seat.”

“Get up,” Oswald told Edward, tugging gently at his wrists. “We're enough of a spectacle as it is.”

Even with Caroline and Vee flanking them while Gabriel pushed the cart a few steps ahead, Edward felt exposed. Oswald had produced a pair of glasses with round, tinted lenses out of nowhere. Not that wearing them made him less noticeable, but Edward supposed they might throw people.

“I never saw you wear those before,” Edward commented, hastily belting his coat as they stepped out into the raw, bustling chill. “Looks like they fell out of the nineteen-thirties.”

“You look an awful lot like you fell out of the fifties,” Oswald shot back. “Nostalgic, I admit. Sexy.”

At that, Edward felt a pleased flush creep through him. “I don't know why you pretend not to like my casual clothes,” he said, leaning closer to Oswald's ear. “Telltale, that you let me keep them.”

“Does exhaustion, like, remove you guys' filters even more than usual?” Vee griped, tapping her foot.

“There!” Caroline gasped, pointing, so excited she was on tiptoe. “Fuckin' A, that's _gorgeous_.”

Black exterior, sleek and tasteful, but nowhere _near_ as spacious as Oswald's limousine. The Phantom's only real drawback was that, while Gabriel sat up front next to the driver, the rest of them had to pile into the tan-leather expanse of the back seat.

Oswald and Caroline insisted on taking the window seats, so that meant Edward and Vee were crammed hip-to-hip for the ride. Edward leaned into Oswald's space, head on his shoulder.

Watching the scenery drift by, Oswald didn't say a word, but his intermittent stroking of Edward's hair turned here and there into a brief, electrifying tug. Edward bit his lip as they pulled up to the curb.

“I'm not allowed to do it on the plane, but you're allowed to do it everywhere else?” Edward groused, trailing after Oswald into the opulent, low-lit burgundy glow of the lobby. “Double standard.”

“The word you're looking for is _hypocrisy_ ,” Oswald sneered, taking Edward's hand, “and you'd be right.” He turned to Gabriel, who had already seen off the bellhop with their mound of luggage. “Once you, Ms. Aragon, and Ms. Fowler have settled into your rooms, see to it you keep your appointment on Jermyn Street. I took pains to keep the rendezvous point close and respectable.”

“You got it, boss,” said Gabriel, handing key-cards to Edward. “You're in 703. Green Park Suite.”

“Oswald, you _didn't_ ,” Edward gasped, struggling to keep up as Oswald led him toward the elevator. “I looked up the Signature Suites before we left. It's only tonight and tomorrow night, and then we cast off from Dover Sunday. I didn't think—”

“Two nights is sufficient excuse to book the best available,” Oswald said, jamming the relevant button.

Based on the per-night figure he could remember from the website, Edward did the math in his head.

“At the current exchange rate...” He stared at Oswald as the elevator door closed behind them. “Two nights here, one suite and two standard rooms, is fully two-thirds the cost of the cruise!”

“I hate to say it,” said Oswald, tugging Edward down by the lapels of his coat even as the elevator shuddered to a halt, “but your fixation on the numbers is a real turn-off.”

Less than ten minutes later, they were naked, pressed close in the marble shower off the master bedroom. Not that Edward was complaining, not that he _could_ have if he'd wanted to—not with his mouth full, just shy of choking, beneath Oswald's hands on his slippery shoulders.

Afterward—damp, wrapped in thick cotton robes—Oswald tipped Edward back onto the bed, blue-and-white watercolor where the sofas in the lounge were purple-striped damask, and sucked him dry.

Drowsily, fumbling his glasses back on, Edward noted that the fresh roses on the bureau smelled like _Rosa bourbonia_. And that Oswald, lounging naked on one of the side-chairs next to the open window overlooking Green Park, was smoking an elegant black-wrapped cigarette.

“That's no clove,” Edward murmured, letting one arm dangle off the side of the mattress. “Sobranie?”

Oswald smirked at him, whimsically pleased, flicking ash out the window. “Your nose told you that?”

“Well,” Edward said, drowning in pillows, “that and the wrapper. Not many black ones on the market.”

“We have a whole day tomorrow,” said Oswald, his expression softening. “What do you want to do?”

Edward breathed in Oswald's smoke mingled with the bright scent of rain, blissfully closing his eyes.

“I want to stay right here,” he replied, smiling at the sound of Oswald abruptly closing the window.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Saturday passed in a haze of sleep, sex, and passable in-house butler service, about which Oswald could hardly complain. Around midday, Edward took his medication and even called Dr. Kali without protest. He remained adorably miffed about her clinical questions regarding intimacy.

They left Sunday-morning packing to the butler while they enjoyed a large, late breakfast in the suite's dining room. If inviting one's travel companions staying in separate rooms was frowned on, then the butler certainly didn't bother to comment.

Given the rate at which he was being tipped, Oswald should hope not. Still, he wasn't Olga by _far_.

“I took a walk in St. James's Park while the ladies were on shift yesterday,” Gabriel volunteered, looking inordinately pleased with either the English-style bacon or the fact he'd gotten time to himself. “Concierge said it was gloomy this time of year, but I didn't think so. There's a few early daffodils and crocuses. I wish I'd taken something to feed the ducks.”

“I wouldn't have guessed you were a nature lover,” Oswald replied, sneaking a sip of Edward's coffee.

“The things you don't know about Gabe,” said Vee, darkly, pushing beans and toast around on her plate.

“I enjoy bird-watching, boss,” said Gabriel, reaching for the salt. “There's wild parakeets here, even!”

“ _Psittacula krameri_ gone feral,” Edward interjected, nearly the first thing he'd said all morning.

Oswald glanced at him, chin in hand, irked that caffeine theft hadn't been the thing to get him talking.

“Yup, that's the ones,” said Gabriel, pointing companionably at Edward. “Rose-ringed parakeets.”

“You'd think they wouldn't survive here,” Caroline said, doctoring her porridge. “It's not tropical.”

“No, but it's temperate enough that they've adapted,” Edward went on, eyeing the piece of bacon on his plate like it might bite him. He glanced at Vee, who was seated across from him, with an odd light in his eyes. “This is what it looks like in Canada, too, more or less. Right?”

Vee shrugged, spooned some beans onto her toast, and bit into it. “I don't know bacon. It's not kosher.”

 _Then my guess at vegetarian was way off the mark_ , Oswald thought, watching Edward intently.

“That's why you never eat it?” Edward asked, his tone neutral. “I thought maybe you were vegetarian.”

Oswald couldn't help but use his palm to cover his smile, endeared at Edward's echoing of his thought.

“Nope. Jewish,” Vee said, brushing toast-crumbs off her fingers. “You know that niece Olga's visiting? I grew up not far from where Sveta lives. You'd be surprised at the Sephardic population of—”

“I might have read something about that,” Edward said. “Crypto-Jews in the American Southwest.”

“Couple hundred years of survivalist Catholicism can't get rid of private prayers, rituals, and eating habits,” Vee agreed. “Mom said fuck the colonizers and formally converted when my abuela died. I was really young. She said generations of traditions don't lie. Then, a few years ago, this genetic test turned up that marker in us that they sometimes find in New Mexican populations.”

“Wild,” Edward said, absently pushing the bacon aside. “My mother's side of the family was Jewish.”

“Then you're Jewish,” Vee told him, shrugging. “So's the Wayne boy, I hear. Is he practicing like me?”

“Don't know,” Edward said, snatching his mug before Oswald could take it again. “Didn't cover that.”

“We need to be out by noon,” Oswald reminded everyone, stacking his porridge bowl on top of his empty plate just like he'd taken to doing at home for Olga. “Our transfer to Dover leaves at one.”

“I finagled us a bigger Rolls,” Caroline volunteered, mopping up the rest of her egg. “An actual limo.”

“Thank goodness for _that_ ,” Edward muttered, pushing his plate forward with fussy fingertips.

Once Gabriel and the ladies had left to finish packing, Oswald hustled Edward back into the bedroom. With their belongings already downstairs and the bed freshly made, the room felt forlorn. Even fully-clothed as they were, Oswald made Edward recline and sat next to him on the mattress.

“I'll tell them not to ask questions about your family,” he said quietly. “It can't be helpful, not with—”

“Practicing or not,” said Edward, “I'm everything the worst medieval _and_ modern stereotypes insist.”

While Oswald had never gone to college, he'd paid close attention during World History in high school.

“That has nothing to do with it,” he insisted, gently taking hold of Edward's chin. “Ed, look at me.”

Edward swallowed, pursing his lips as Oswald brushed his thumb across them. He kissed the pad of it.

“I don't believe in a higher power except for you. What's the point in trying to recover _anything_?”

“You don't have to,” Oswald agreed, “but you _have_ been volunteering pieces of information.”

“I'd like to think it's a side-effect of the quetiapine,” Edward said. “Or carry-over from Ivy's perfume.”

“The latter is unlikely, and you know it,” Oswald cautioned. “It doesn't stay in the system that long.”

Edward rolled away, settling on his side in a mild sulk, so Oswald promptly cuddled up behind him.

“She made me not want to eat it,” Edward murmured. “Even Mother made it for me and my... _well_...even if she wouldn't eat it herself. I didn't care that she wouldn't, but I noticed.”

“You need more rest,” Oswald said, afraid to say anything that might cause Edward to dwell on his parents more than he already had. “You probably wouldn't have eaten it anyway. The one side-effect you _are_ experiencing is reduced appetite. You're thinner already, I swear—”

Edward turned his face fully into the pillow and began to mumble something Oswald couldn't discern. The syllables' cadence was rhythmic and curt-edged, lulling. Oswald held him while he dozed.

Their two-hour ride to the coast passed peacefully, if only because Oswald sacrificed his window seat to Edward in order to keep him quiet and content. While Edward watched the scenery pass with only the occasional riddle or piece of trivia, Oswald periodically contributed to the conversation Vee and Caroline were having. He regretted not venturing into the city, but only mildly.

The Port of Dover was a long, narrow stretch of terminal with a paneled glass ceiling. No rest for the wicked, however, as Oswald couldn't keep Edward away from the tourist-kiosk postcard racks once they'd checked in. Having offloaded their London-stretch weapons before departing the hotel, their security detail, hovering as Edward wandered with Oswald on his heels, looked ill at ease.

“Stop _buying_ them for him!” Caroline hissed to Oswald while Edward picked out another five or six. “It's not like he's got that many people to send 'em to anyway. Ivy and the girls, Zsasz, Fish—”

“It would be good manners to send one to Wayne Manor, don't you think? Better to catch Fox there rather than at work, the more I think about it,” said Edward, snidely, letting on that he'd overheard.

Oswald brushed the tip of his nose with his knuckle, catching Edward's wrist as he reached for another.

“If you insist on doing that, address it to the boy,” he advised. “It wouldn't hurt to remind him that we did him a good turn. Or that we _tried_ to do him one while he was in Jerome's clutches.”

“I wonder if _that_ one made the international press,” Edward mused, putting the postcard back.

Priority boarding was well worth the online fuss that Edward had walked them through after the series of phone-calls that Oswald had made to secure them places. The ship's halls were broad and understated, serene, if slightly claustrophobic. Glass and crystal, pristine carpet.

Edward lost interest in being on deck as soon as general boarding and the life-boat drill was over, mumbling under his breath about not feeling up to remaining there for cast-off. Oswald excused them, insisting that he could see Edward back to Deck 11 without Gabriel's supervision.

The midship elevator let them off neatly next to penthouse 11023. Their luggage was piled next to the door; Gabriel's and the ladies' bags were already waiting outside the two smaller suites, 11021 and 11024, adjacent and across the hall respectively.

Considering this while Oswald shoved one of their key-cards in the door, Edward swayed a little.

“I think we're moving,” he said, setting a hand at the small of Oswald's back. “ _Hurry_ , I—”

“You can't possibly be seasick,” Oswald muttered, dragging him inside. “We're not even full sail.”

“Oh _my_ ,” said Edward, softly, forgetting the slight vibration underfoot as he took in the room.

“This is just the foyer,” Oswald explained, using his cane to brace himself while he bent to untie his shoes. “Guest bathroom just to the right, living room to the left, dining area just around...”

“To hell with the butler,” Edward said, reaching for the door again. “I'm bringing in our things.”

Oswald supposed that distraction was the best thing for Edward's queasiness, be it real or imagined. He finished removing his shoes while Edward dragged everything into the foyer, moving on to inspect the living room and lounge areas. He had no idea what to do with a television that large.

The dining table was black-lacquered and round with four chairs, those upholstered in white damask. Rosewood parquet underfoot, Art Nouveau lattice-work partitions that reminded him startlingly of home, and _then_...

“I should've left the luggage,” Edward blurted, catching up with Oswald as he approached the bedroom from its opposite ingress off the foyer. “There's so much to look at.” He wiggled his toes against the carpet, eyeing the embroidered black silk throw across the bed's white duvet.

“The verandah is right here,” said Oswald, pointing over his shoulder. He headed for the master bathroom, which was a few steps away, expecting to find Edward outside on one of the deck-chairs by the time he was finished. He pissed and washed his hands, liking the look of the shower.

“Just think, Ed,” he said, stepping back into the bedroom, words dying on his tongue. “This is all for...”

Edward had already sussed out where the robes were hidden, undressed himself, and put one on. He lounged against the pile of grey throw-pillows, glasses abandoned on the nightstand.

“No, Oswald,” he said, parting the robe in a languid, indecent gesture. “This is all for _you_.”

Oswald decided he could do much, much worse than torment Edward with the slow shedding of his garments exactly where he stood. Comical, to watch him, squinting, finally huff in frustration and crawl on all fours to the foot of the bed in an effort to get a better look.

“I'm not fucking you if there's a chance you might get seasick,” Oswald warned, climbing naked onto the bed beside him. The ship was moving at an energetic clip; it was easy to use that momentum to push Edward back against the pillows. Kissing him deeply, Oswald parted Edward's robe and straddled him, drawing the fabric up to bunch against his thighs. “Is there?”

“ _Oh_ no,” Edward sighed against Oswald's mouth, fingers clenching in the cotton. “None.”

“Then I'm a sufficient distraction,” Oswald concluded breathily, covering Edward's hands on his thighs with his own, tilting their hips together in a leisurely grind. “ _Good_. Happy Valentine's Day.”

Edward trembled and clutched harder at Oswald's thighs, quickening their pace to match the ship's thrum.

“Touch me, please,” he sighed, eyes closed tight, head tipped back into the pillows. “Say something.”

Oswald removed his hands from the backs of Edward's and wrapped his fingers around both of them.

“I could be having...canapés with the captain about now,” he panted. “Showing you off to everyone.”

Edward swallowed hard, sliding his hands up to clutch desperately at Oswald's hips. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow and tomorrow,” Oswald promised, letting go of them so he could tilt forward and kiss Edward again. “Oh, Ed. _Edward_. My love, my—”

Breathtaking, the times his orgasm took him by surprise, never mind how close he knew he was.

“Finish that sentence,” Edward gritted out, shuddering deliciously into his own, “or _else_.”

Oswald thought about that for a second, still out of breath, holding Edward just the way he liked.

“Mine,” he concluded, rubbing his cheek against the tip of Edward's nose. “That's all, I think.”


	4. Everyone Needs a Hobby

 

 

_To the residents of Maison d'Ivy in exile:_

 

_Two is company; four is a crowd._

_Three's a party. Don't be too loud._

 

_(Hope you're not finding the place too inhospitable._

_It's_ _not_ _as if you hesitate_ _to_ _put your feet up anyway._

_What Oswald doesn't know can't hurt him. Burn this.)_

 

_To Messrs. Wayne, Pennyworth, & Fox:_

 

_Aspired by all, yet hard to find._

_E_ _ndlessly you search, but_ _have_ _little_

_peace of mind. What am I?_

 

_(Hint: money can't buy it, but a good butler_

_can scrounge it up with a shred of creativity._

_Hope you're settling back in swimmingly.)_

 

_To the residents of Casa del Zsasz, with regards:_

 

_Faults have I many;_ _regrets_

_have I none. What am I?_

 

_(It has been suggested that the figures_

_onshore represent Aragon_ _and Fowler,_

_who have gone mad in your absence.)_

 

 

_To Messrs. Gordon & Bullock, in that order:_

 

_What the Devil can't have,_

_the Devil won't mind._

 

_(Serene, isn't it? For once,_

_I have what you can't find.)_

 

 

_To Our Esteemed & Erstwhile Queen:_

 

_Out of the eater, something to eat;_

_out of the strong, something sweet._

 

_(In response to your bold query, which I heard_

_as_ _I crept up the hall, but reversed—_

_there's no doubt my King is that and more.)_


	5. Full Fathom Five

Ever since Oswald's refusal to let any of them go ashore when the ship had docked at Saint Peter Port that morning, Edward had been cross. Eight hours spent investigating the ship's myriad bars, boutiques, theaters, and other miscellaneous sources of entertainment—as well as their first formal lunch in the Crystal Dining Room—hadn't quite been enough to distract him until six o'clock cast-off.

Now, with the ship at sea again and less than forty minutes until their dinner seating, Edward felt genuinely queasy as he stammered his way through his latest check-in call with Dr. Kali.

Oswald, whose expression suggested he'd overheard her most recent question, was seated next to Edward on the sofa. For every inch Edward scooted toward the far end, Oswald shifted by two.

“I requested a scale in our London suite,” Edward sighed, giving up as his hip finally bumped the arm of the sofa. He leaned on it, staring at the verandah through the sheer curtains. “I'm down six pounds.”

“Even if you don't feel like eating, you need to try,” Kali cautioned, tinny on the end of their tenuous cellular connection. “With a metabolism like yours, you'll continue to drop weight. Nausea?”

Oswald took hold of Edward's hand against the cushion, unexpectedly gentle for as irked as he seemed.

“Only when the ship goes from zero to twenty knots in ten minutes flat,” Edward replied impatiently.

Kali hummed like she was writing something down. “And your sex drive remains largely unchanged?”

“Since you insist on asking me that every time, I'm beginning to think you don't believe me,” Edward snapped, glancing at Oswald. “I'm going to start handing you off to my husband, how's that?”

“No change,” said Kali, dryly. “As long as you're telling the truth. Your sleep has remained stable?”

Oswald nodded while Edward chewed his lip and said, “Marked lack of usual insomniac tendencies.”

“This all remains excellent news,” Kali agreed. “You are not susceptible to typical side-effects.” She scribbled for a few more seconds, her pen-strokes audible. “The real question: still no hallucinations?”

Edward swallowed, his mouth gone dry, as Oswald smiled to encourage him through the home stretch.

“Yeah, about that,” he said, forcing the words past his teeth. “I might've...seen something yesterday.”

The color drained from Oswald's face as Kali, somber on the end of the line, said, “Tell me about it.”

“It was before we left the hotel for Dover,” Edward sighed, closing his eyes rather than stare at Oswald's anxious shock. “After breakfast. Ms. Aragon asked me some...evocative questions.”

“What happened after you answered these questions?” Kali prompted. “What were they specifically?”

“They weren't specific,” said Edward, in agitation. “The situation reminded me of my mother, so I volunteered the information. I don't know why. I've been doing that lately. Anyway, Oswald took me to lie down for a while, told me he'd tell them not to keep me talking about things like that. While I was lying there with him sitting next to me, there was...I saw...” He opened his eyes when Oswald squeezed his hand hard enough to hurt. “My father. Off to the opposite side of the bed.”

“I'm sorry, Edward. That must have been very distressing,” said Kali, soothingly, which made Edward almost certain Oswald had briefed her on how to handle his nerves. “What did you do?”

“I turned my face into the pillow and recited the Hebrew prayer I told you about,” Edward said. “The one Bruce Wayne suggested while we were...inconvenienced.”

“Did you tell Oswald what you saw?” Kali asked, her subdued tone suggesting she knew his response.

“No!” Oswald cut in, trying to snatch the phone away from Edward. “I assure you he did _not_!”

“What he said,” Edward muttered into the mouthpiece, getting to his feet in order to evade Oswald.

“Thank you for being honest with me,” said Kali, calmly. “Please give the phone to your husband.”

Edward let his hand fall to his side, phone dangling between thumb and forefinger. He turned to face the sofa and offered it contemptuously to Oswald, his chest beginning to constrict with rage.

“It's for you,” he said, dropping the phone on the coffee table before Oswald could take hold of it.

While Oswald recovered and scrambled to retrieve the hand-set, Edward spun on his heel and went out onto the verandah, slamming the sliding glass door behind him. He stared into the sea, arms poised on the railing. He wondered if, theoretically, he'd survive the jump. He _wondered_ —

“Your father was angry,” said his mother's voice, close beside him. “You refused to acknowledge him.”

“So what if I refused to say you made bacon for him?” Edward scoffed, side-eyeing her. “The _nerve_.”

“Yes, but you're wondering why he paid you a visit instead of me,” said his mother. “That's why.” She leaned on the railing, her dark hair swept loose from its careful arrangement. “Oh, Eddie. I've missed—”

“Save it,” Edward retorted, glaring at her in order to cover how startled he was at the familiar, bruise-like circles beneath her brown eyes and the vivid emerald of her dress. “ _I_ haven't missed _you_.”

“I didn't ask for what I got,” she said, eyes flashing. “Neither of us did, and you know it! I tried—”

“Not hard enough,” Edward told her, instinctively raising a hand, horrified to see her recoil. “ _Oh_. No, I—”

Oswald slid the glass door open, stepping into the frigid air. He'd left his cane and the phone behind.

“Ed?” he asked, approaching uncertainly, arm outstretched. “What is it?” He grabbed Edward's hand.

“I saw my mother just now,” said Edward, letting Oswald pull him close. “She said it was because...”

“I don't care what she said,” Oswald replied tautly, holding him close. “Only if it'll help you to share.”

“She said my father paid me a visit because he was insulted I wouldn't discuss him,” Edward admitted.

“Did she say anything else?” asked Oswald, mechanically, face buried in the crook of Edward's neck.

“She said that neither of us deserved what we got,” Edward replied. “Meaning herself. Meaning me.”

“I doubt either of you deserved the things your father did,” Oswald seethed. “Whatever those were.”

“Well, you know that he beat me,” Edward said dispassionately, shrugging. “You've seen the marks.”

Oswald's fists tightened in rage at the small of Edward's back before smoothing the fabric of his shirt.

“I can also guess that your mother did very little to stay his hand, if anything, out of fear for herself.”

“Not that it stopped him terribly often,” Edward laughed. “Not that I...fell all that far from the tree.”

“Why would you say that?” Oswald asked, letting go so that he could hold Edward at arms' length.

“I tried to hit her,” Edward said, watching Oswald's eyes. “That's what I was doing when you came out.”

“It wouldn't be helpful of me to say it sounds like she deserved it,” said Oswald, with restrained fury.

“No,” Edward agreed, letting Oswald lead him back inside. “It's not like you to think that way about...”

“About mothers?” Oswald asked, steering Edward back to the sofa. “No, but I'm not used to mothers behaving terribly. For all that I understand mine was domineering, she never raised a hand to me.”

“I've never raised a hand to you without your express permission, have I?” Edward asked quietly.

“No,” Oswald agreed, “but I know that you hurt someone undeserving. And that it haunts you.”

“I haven't seen Kristen since the cages,” Edward insisted, accepting the menu Oswald handed him.

“I mentioned that to Kali once you went outside,” Oswald said, sitting down beside him. “She wanted to know if you'd seen your old hallucinations in a while. I told her you hadn't. She asked if this was the first I'd heard of your parents in the mix. I told her that it was.” He moved Edward's hands on the sides of the menu, opening it so that they could view that evening's courses. “She thinks that you might have dealt with one set of ghosts and be moving on to another. A set you've ignored for too long.”

“How can I deal with them if we're trying to suppress the hallucinations?” Edward asked, perusing the elegant typeface ( _ceviche, sea bass with winter vegetable medley, trio of sorbets_ ).

“That's the thing. You've been trying to deal with them even when you can't see them,” Oswald said, sliding an arm around Edward's waist. “She thinks that's why you keep volunteering information.”

“She's asking us to raise my dose, isn't she,” Edward countered. “Risk side-effects while I'm stable.”

“You aren't stable if you're starting to see things and experience violent impulses,” Oswald pointed out.

“Nobody's complaining about _your_ violent impulses,” said Edward, bitterly. “Least of all me.”

“I don't strike you unless you ask for it,” Oswald reminded him. “Don't be petulant. This is different.”

Edward hummed, snapping the menu shut. “Then we'll just have to kill somebody when we get home.”

“Look, as easily as that can be arranged,” said Oswald, hesitantly, “I'm not sure I should indulge you.”

“Just listen to yourself, Oswald,” Edward sneered. “We're killers. It's what we do. We're not _nice_.”

“There's what we are, and then there are _rules_ ,” Oswald shot back. “You don't have to like them, Ed, but if you want to survive? If you want _us_ to survive?” He brushed Edward's cheek, turning the gesture into a startlingly firm grasp on Edward's chin. “You'll follow them.”

“Don't say it,” Edward whispered, flooded with shame. “Please don't remind me. I remind myself.”

Oswald released him and leaned in for a slow, sweet kiss, which went on for a dizzyingly long time.

“You'll up your dose by ten milligrams before we go to supper,” he said breathlessly. “No arguing.”

“You remember what happened the first time I took it,” Edward said. “I'll face-plant in my sorbet.”

“Did it affect you that way the _first_ first time?” Oswald asked softly. “In Arkham, I mean?”

“Pretty much,” Edward said, tossing the menu on the coffee table. “I slept for twenty-four hours.”

“We're at sea tomorrow,” Oswald reminded him. “We don't make port in Bordeaux till very late.”

“Maybe it won't be so bad,” said Edward, sarcastically. “All I'll miss is that pop-culture pub quiz in the Galaxy Lounge, at which Vee and Caroline are convinced they'll beat us.”

“You like wine as much as you like trivia,” Oswald replied. “I made reservations for that shore excursion, the vineyard tour that caught your attention. You can show off to our fellow passengers _and_ the expert winemakers. I'll buy you as many bottles as you want.”

“Fine,” Edward said, his glance falling back on the menu. “But I'm not sure I want the ceviche.” He couldn't get his mother out of his head; the thought of shellfish turned his stomach. “Where's my—”

“Gabe will eat it,” Oswald promised, pulling Edward's pills from his pocket. “I'll get you some water.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Much to Oswald's unease, the main course had scarcely arrived when Edward's dose kicked in with a vengeance. As promised, he hadn't touched the ceviche; two dinner rolls, three bites of sea bass, and half his vegetable medley weren't sufficient to stave off intense drowsiness.

Oswald made clipped apologies the next time their server swung by, requesting that Edward's plate and his own be sent back to the penthouse.

While Caroline and Vee pretended to be even more interested than before in their food, Oswald ordered Gabriel to assist him with Edward.

Once Gabriel had helped Oswald get a dazed Edward from Deck 5 back to Deck 11, Oswald dismissed him with instructions to take the ladies to the Stardust Club and let them drink as much as they liked.

Gabriel looked put-out at the prospect of karaoke with his colleagues, so Oswald shut the door in his face.

While Edward twitched and shivered in his sleep, Oswald sat next to him in bed. Eating propped against a pile of pillows with Edward nuzzled into his robe-covered hip and Edward's arm thrown across his legs was a challenge, but he managed it.

Flipping through the film channels at his disposal, Oswald got stuck on the horror-show known as _Deadpool_ that Zsasz and his associates loved to dissect for inaccuracies. Its only points of fascination were that the female lead bore passing resemblance to Leslie Thompkins and that the misery of dragging around a moody teenager hit oddly close to home.

Nearly an hour of disdainful staring later, Oswald flipped off the television, set his plate aside, turned out the light, and joined Edward under the covers. Edward wriggled closer and clung to him, naked and sleepy, yawning wide.

“S'not funny,” mumbled Edward, with obvious dislike for what he'd heard of the film. “Girls tried to get me to watch. Vee says. Zsasz and crew have...joke betting pool. Dry-erase. How to kill...fictional assholes. Like that one.”

“Crass,” agreed Oswald, yawning, and soundly kissed Edward's forehead. “Love, go back to sleep.”

"We could turn it back on," Edward suggested. "Mock it. Have you heard of _Mystery Science Theater 3000_?"

"I'm aware of the concept," Oswald replied mildly. "But you need rest."

Edward slept so appallingly late the next morning that Oswald, long awake and dressed, let himself be tempted out to brunch by a persistently knocking Caroline. He was startled to find that Gabriel and Vee weren't anywhere in sight.

“You shoulda heard,” Caroline chuckled into her fancy teacup. They'd gone to the Crystal Dining Room, because Oswald couldn't see any reason not to prod her. “Gabe tried to sing _Ring of Fire_.”

“That either went better than you'd expect,” Oswald said, dissecting his Belgian waffle, “or abysmally.”

Caroline gave him a perplexed look, and then stared apprehensively at her eggs. “Kinda both, boss?”

“I'll cut to the chase,” Oswald said cheerfully, passing her the condiments. “Tell Vee not to respond directly to Ed when he starts on a tangent about his family. Kali recommends letting it run its course.”

“Like a fever? Sure, Mr. C, yeah,” Caroline agreed, seasoning her scramble with a vengeance. “Looks to me like he's doin' okay on those meds, unless there's nasty side-effects? I've never been on anything quite like that, but I've been on my fair share of heavy shit.”

“His absence is indicative of the only one he's suffered,” Oswald replied. “Heaven knows I'm not complaining. He needs rest.”

“He hasn't been...you know, seeing things?” asked Caroline, perhaps trying to downplay her concern.

“I have Kali's reassurance that he's doing well, familial digressions notwithstanding,” Oswald replied. “What she lacks in experience with Edward's...primary issues, she more than makes up for in the realm of PTSD.”

“You go all dictionary just about as often as he does, d'you realize?” Caroline said, grinning at him.

“This arrangement wouldn't have worked out if that weren't a thing,” Oswald retorted. “ _Rude_.”

“You always sorta surprise me with how easily you code-switch,” Caroline said, scratching her nose.

Oswald shrugged; he'd never given it much thought. Between his mother's fluency in three languages and the facility with accents he'd picked up in order to survive Gotham's streets, he hadn't assumed his ability to communicate in any circumstances was unusual. He did what he needed to do.

"As long as I get the message across, I don't think that hard about what I'm saying," Oswald confessed. "Does it vex you?"

"See, I don't think about what comes outta my mouth, either," Caroline said, "but your carelessness always sounds classy."

"Blame it on the fact that I read too much as a kid," Oswald suggested. "I might've made it faster if I had your rough edges."

"Depends on what you consider making it," said Caroline, shrugging. "Seems to me you played the long game and won."

Oswald sat back in his chair, fingers steepled thoughtfully. "Did you consider your incarceration a setback at the time?"

"Nah," Caroline replied. "There's a lot of useful stuff you can get done on the inside. Making connections is the big one."

"My stays with the GCPD have been both brief and laughable," Oswald told her. "I used most of them as excuses to flirt."

Just then, Edward astonished both of them by turning up chipper and fully dressed. He sat down beside Oswald, kissed Oswald's cheek, and snatched the laminated menu from its ornate holder. He wrinkled his nose at almost everything until he found where the French toast was hiding, and ordered it by pointing when their server returned. He probably missed the comforting routine of Olga's cooking.

“Good morning, Caroline,” he yawned, covering his mouth. “The ship's slowing. We'll be in France tonight.”

“No fuckin' way,” Caroline said, giving him a lopsided smile as Oswald winced. “G'morning yourself.”

“The shore excursion is on Wednesday morning,” Edward said conversationally. “You're coming, right?”

“Seeing as we've got a pick-up,” said Caroline, making finger-guns at each of them, “that'd be a yes.”

“The last I checked, our limit on bottles of wine in checked luggage is roughly a case,” Edward said.

“I know I said I'd buy you as many as you want,” cautioned Oswald, “but that's within reason, Ed.”

“There are instances in which I don't mind hyperbole from you,” Edward sulked. “That being one.”

“I'm sure we can rustle up a case between the five of us,” suggested Caroline. “Vee's a fiend with red.”

“The point of this trip was _not_ to stock the club,” Oswald groused. “I have suppliers for that.”

Edward shrugged curtly, beaming across the table at Caroline in mischievous delight. “Tell me more.”


	6. Tastes Like History

Much to Oswald's acute and _profusely_ expressed annoyance, Edward had yawned his way through rising, showering, and packing their bags for an overnight winery experience onshore. Room-service breakfast was a rushed affair; it ended in Oswald hustling Edward out of the penthouse with half a buttered bagel clenched between his teeth and their bags slung over his shoulders.

Thankfully, it was nine o'clock by the time that happened, their security detail had been waiting in the hall. Gabriel had taken the bags off Edward's hands while Caroline and Vee smugly looked on.

Somehow, Edward had gotten through disembarkation security without having to give up the bagel. Just as well, as Oswald had insisted that he finish it. He'd subsequently spent most of the luxury tour-bus ride to Château Soutard leaning over Oswald to peer at the exquisite scenery.

Oswald, by contrast, had spent most of the ride slumped in his seat griping about bagel crumbs.

Eight hours on, after a tour of the cellar and grounds, Edward had to admit that Oswald seemed to like the look of their surroundings considerably better. Whether it was the elegant courtyard in which they stood or the ninety-point Grand Cru Classé in their glasses, Edward couldn't be sure.

“We're staying in _there_?” Edward blurted, taking another swallow. “The charter-house?”

“You're the one who did web research on the ride out,” said Oswald, pink-cheeked, hanging on Edward's arm. “Eighteenth-century furnishings from top to bottom. We'd better not break—”

“I don't wanna hear what you plan on doing to the bed, boss,” Gabriel sighed. “Should I go back to the cellar and chaperone the girls? Bet they're still yakkin' that poor vintner's ear off.”

“I was going to say _any glassware_ ,” said Oswald, tipsiness rendering his falsely prim demeanor laughable. “Crude of you to make assumptions this early in the day, don't you think?”

“It's almost six,” Edward pointed out. “You haven't had to draw your latest round of borrowed weapons. We're safe. Go on. I don't trust Vee around casks of this stuff any more than Caroline does.”

“Dinner is in an hour!” Oswald called after him, nearly sloshing some wine on the cobblestones.

“Oh my,” Edward sighed, finishing what was only his second glass. “They let you have too much.”

“You could've had more than that,” Oswald said, disentangling himself from Edward's arm so that he could straighten the lapels of Edward's coat. “It's exquisite here even in winter,” he went on.

Edward caught a bloody smear of wine along Oswald's lower lip. He absently licked it off his thumb.

“The dining room's green from ceiling to carpet,” he said, remembering the photograph. “White linens, cobalt water glasses, wicker-backed dining chairs. More of these,” he added, tapping his glass.

“You wicked tease,” Oswald replied, basking half-lidded as heavy clouds parted to reveal the sunset.

Edward hummed, wrapping Oswald's arm back around his own. “Wait till later. Just enjoy the walk.”

“We've been walking most of the day,” Oswald snapped, hanging on him as they approached the charter-house. “I'm ready to eat, drink some more, and pass out beside you on that canopied bed.”

“Pity,” Edward replied, holding the door for Oswald when they reached it. “I had bigger plans.”

Gabriel caught up with them in the dining room about twenty minutes later. He had a grumpy-looking Caroline on one side and a hazy-eyed Vee on the other. He pulled out chairs for them across from Edward and then sat down directly across from Oswald.

“Aragon can't hold her liquor,” he said. “Suppose if she had to aim at somebody in this condition?”

“You have no goddamn idea,” sighed Caroline, studying the elegant triple-S insignia on the nearest piece of glassware, “how much more dangerous this one gets with inhibitions down.”

“Yeah, but...” Vee squinted sideways. “What Cee's not tellin' you is how much _she_ had.”

“Gabe, I don't care,” Oswald replied. “I'm aware Ms. Fowler can drink us all under the table.”

Edward glared at the handful of shipmates who'd chosen that moment to enter the dining room.

“Most will return to the city before dark,” Oswald said. “We'll have this place all to ourselves.”

“I don't want to break the bed,” replied Edward, leaning close, “but I do want to...take you in it.”

“Formal,” Oswald muttered into his wine. “Does your language always match your surroundings?”

Under the pretense of kissing Oswald's earlobe, Edward leaned closer. “Flowery,” he said, smirking. “Vibrant with black raspberries, espresso, licorice, soft tannins, and an approachable personality.”

“I'm nowhere near drunk enough to listen to this,” said Caroline, bitterly, as the wait-staff entered.

“ _Mmm_ ,” Vee agreed noncommittally, sipping the dregs of her glass. “Tastes like grapes.”

Edward sat back in his seat, attempting to cover his horror with an approximation of disapproval.

“No,” he corrected her, neatly splitting the roll he'd just been served, “it tastes like _history_.”

“Ed,” Oswald warned, spreading his napkin in his lap, “why not learn to stop when you're ahead.”

Dinner consisted of _coq aux pruneaux_ , which ensured Oswald was too busy eating to offer further snide commentary. Edward found the dish flawless, but he only ate around half of his plate's contents.

A third glass of wine, as means of swallowing his nightly quetiapine, made Edward's head spin.

Oswald caught Edward's right forearm before he could sway sidelong into the person to his left.

If missing dessert to escort Edward upstairs made Oswald cross, he didn't let on. He even stripped down to nothing once he'd stripped Edward and tucked him in, making a clatter in the bathroom before hobbling back in. He turned off the light and slipped under the covers beside Edward.

“So much for...” Edward yawned, slinging a heavy arm around Oswald's waist. “Plans.”

“You'll make it up to me,” Oswald said, tenderly stroking Edward's wrist. “Darling, rest.”

 _So genteel_ , remarked Edward's mother, _for the bastard son of a lowly cook._

“Sing me to sleep,” Edward whispered, clinging to Oswald all the more tightly. “Please.”

The song Oswald began under his breath wasn't his mother's lullaby. It wasn't even in English—or Hebrew, or French, _or_ German. Swiftly losing consciousness, Edward ran the unusual, lilting syllables through his memory bank until something stuck.

“Is—is that Hungarian?” he mumbled into Oswald's hair. “Sounds like...like something I heard on...”

“ _Shhh_ ,” Oswald said, interrupting himself mid-phrase, and got back to the haunting melody.

Edward didn't wake until midday, at which point Oswald was immaculately dressed and had packed everything except for Edward's toiletries and change of clothes. They met Gabriel, Vee, and Caroline in the courtyard, where three other shipmates were waiting for transfer back to the city.

“We have till ten o'clock this evening to reach the docks,” Edward yawned. “Why're we in a rush?”

“Because if you get left behind at a stop, it's your job to cover land travel to the next port of call,” Oswald said. “I can afford that, don't get me wrong, but we're keeping your environment...stable.”

Guiltily, Edward recalled the voice in his head the night before. It hadn't been a full visual occurrence as in previous days, but he supposed the sudden change in surroundings might have contributed.

“I need to speak with Dr. Kali as soon as we're onboard,” he said quietly. “We didn't call yesterday.”

Oswald kissed his hand and didn't let go, ignoring the low murmur amidst their fellow passengers.

“I hope you don't object, but we're putting her on speakerphone this time,” he said in a hushed tone.

Edward shook his head, watching the coach pull up a short distance off. “They know who we are.”

“Everyone knows who you are,” said Vee, closing tighter ranks around them with Caroline and Gabriel.

 _I have a lot of media clippings to collect once we get home_ , Edward thought with determination. _And I'll start with the one in Gabe's magazine_.

“I can hear you thinking,” cautioned Oswald, shaking Edward's hand to loosen his grip. “Stop it.”

“We should be paying closer attention,” Edward said as Gabriel ushered them toward the bus. “There were probably paparazzi in London, and I wouldn't be surprised if we've been tailed here.”

“You are _not_ makin' this one of your collage projects, Mr. N, no _sir_ ,” Caroline seethed, following Edward up the bus steps as Oswald dragged him along. “Let alone what comes _after_ the clip-art. I've learned my lesson. Not drivin' your ass _anywhere_.”

“I'm starting to feel like everyone's out to get me,” Edward muttered, surprised when Oswald stood aside to let him take the window seat. He slumped into it, arms folded across his chest. “Again.”

“The expression you're looking for is _I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now_ ,” Oswald said, stiffly settling in the seat beside him, “but let's change that once we're back on the ship.”

“You didn't give me time to act on my plans this morning,” Edward said. “They're _good_ plans.”

“We're at sea tomorrow,” Oswald replied, patting Edward's thigh. “Make me as complicit as you like.”

Edward turned away from the window and pressed his cheek to Oswald's temple. “You've kept things too tame since...well, _since_ ,” he said. “I won't break. The real question is, will _you_?”

Oswald snorted, turning the pat of his hand into something more suggestive. “I'd like to see you try.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“That's better than seeing something,” said Kali, her voice edged in faint static, as distant on the end of the line as ever. “A kind of...happy medium, if you will? The raised dosage might be effective, but my guess is that this is a sign your mind's still processing whatever it needs to process.”

“It's exactly the kind of thing my mother would have said about Oswald,” said Edward. “Given the voices in my head are really just _me_ , though, why would I feel the need to say...”

Oswald squeezed Edward's hand against the sofa cushion, willing Edward to desist in his line of reasoning. At this stage, he'd no more take offense from a subconscious slight than an intentional one.

“Your mother is very much in your thoughts,” Kali said reasonably. “Using her as a filter on your circumstances makes as much sense as using your past hallucinations as a filter, understand?”

“He's frustrated that I've limited our bedroom activities to a degree,” Oswald volunteered. “I felt bad enough [giving in to his request involving wax](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11546127). I'm convinced that was a mistake.”

“Sure didn't seem like it at the time,” Edward said with derision. “You enjoyed it as much as I did.”

“Yes, but that doesn't mean I should have given you what you wanted,” Oswald replied, determinedly suppressing his temper. “We have evidence that letting you have _everything_ you want is—”

“You're terrible at denying me, Oswald,” said Edward, icily. “I don't know whether to thank you or—”

“Oswald, you've done an admirable job under the circumstances,” said Kali. “Edward, so have you.”

Inasmuch as they both appreciated the positive feedback, Oswald wasn't so sure that Kali's willingness to give it was helpful to _either_ of them. And Edward was absolutely correct.

“Any psychologist treating me would suggest Arkham,” said Edward, defeated. “Treating _us_.”

Oswald's first instinct was to bristle at the suggestion he was insane, especially given that his plea of insanity had been a maneuver to keep himself out of Blackgate. On the other hand, fair was fair.

“For obvious reasons,” Kali went on, with a hint of dry humor, “it's the last place anyone in my household would like to see either of you. For both income-related reasons and otherwise.”

“I appreciate your willingness to be pragmatic,” said Oswald. “Is there anything Ed needs to change?”

“It's too soon to determine what the new dosage is doing,” Kali concluded. “But he's still more stable than he was in January, and I need not remind you what instability looked like.”

“About the suicidal ideation,” Edward cut in. “On the verandah when I saw...” He swallowed before continuing. “Was that the kind of thing any person would think looking down at the ocean, or...”

“If it happens again, report it to me,” Kali replied. “If it doesn't, I'm inclined to say it was a whim.”

Oswald could think of any number of times he'd had terrifying thoughts about heights, but he tactfully didn't mention them. Reminding himself that these sessions were about Edward took discipline.

Edward breathed out, an obvious sigh of relief. “I've been meaning to ask you about the possibility of switching to clozapine when we get home,” he said tentatively. “It might...work better.”

“It had occurred to me you might experience fuller suppression on that drug,” Kali admitted, showing signs of hesitation for the first time Oswald could recall, “but your ability to face down and work through your demons, however destructively, suggested to me that the middle ground...” She cleared her throat. “When we began, I gave you the disclaimer that I am _not_ a psychologist. I'm doing my best with what drug and counseling knowledge I have at my disposal. I'm keeping you at your husband's side, Edward. It was your wish as much as Oswald's. If you think switching your medication is in order, I'm willing to cooperate. This is not an ideal situation.”

“Thank you, Dr. Kali,” Oswald said, letting Edward slump against his side. “You've been nothing but helpful. We'll revisit this three days from now, I'm sure. Our regards to Victor and the rest.”

“Edward's expedited postcard arrived this morning,” said Kali. “It made us smile, Nefyn in particular.”

Oswald nudged Edward. “You sent one of the postcards? When? We didn't go ashore in Guernsey.”

“The ship has a service that does it for you,” Edward muttered into Oswald's shoulder. “Sent several.”

“Perfect,” Oswald sighed, reaching for his phone on the coffee table. “Till next time, then. Goodbye.”

“I sent them to Zsasz and his crew, our house-sitters, and Wayne Manor,” Edward clarified. “And—”

“So _help_ me if the GCPD was on your Valentine list,” Oswald retorted. “Did you at least...”

“Get in a dig at Jimbo? What do you take me for,” said Edward, looking up with a pleased grin.

Oswald patted Edward's hip, smiling in spite of himself. “As long as you didn't confess to anything.”

“No, I just let him and Harvey know we're having a grand old time,” Edward said. “Without them.”

“We don't have long to wait until our dinner seating,” Oswald sighed, changing the subject. “Do you want to go with Gabe and the ladies, or should we change things up and try one of the restaurants?”

“I really liked the look of the menu at Silk Road,” Edward admitted. “And I want you all to myself.”

“Nobody onboard is out to kill us,” Oswald said. “If someone was, they'd have tried by now. I'll text Caroline and let her know they're on their own tonight. More karaoke if they wish.”

“I'd enjoy karaoke if it was just the two of us,” Edward said. “I'm not singing in front of the whole lounge. But I bet you'd enjoy being onstage.”

“Not given the aim of this trip,” Oswald insisted. “I'm doing my best to... _Ed_. I hope you know...”

“I do,” Edward sighed happily. “ _I_ hope Silk Road has chopsticks, because that's nostalgic.”

Oswald rolled his eyes at the ceiling, his expression escaping Edward's notice. “You can have them.”

Dinner, at least, was an unqualified success. Edward, having gotten his way, ate more than Oswald had seen him eat on any of the previous days.

Oswald counted it a victory that there wasn't any need to prevent Edward from using his utensils as drumsticks. Their surroundings _did_ seem to impress upon him the need for decorum. There was the matter of his upbringing, too, which Oswald had inferred, since learning about his parents, to be higher-class than Oswald's had _ever_ been. That Edward had fleetingly chosen a frugal lifestyle seemed incongruous.

Edward was exhausted by the time they were done with dessert, so Oswald escorted him back to the penthouse like he'd done on several other nights. He felt curious as he helped Edward into bed, _too_ curious, and gave in before his sense of shame could return.

“You said your parents traveled,” he said. “They went to Europe without you. Did they do that a lot?”

Edward nodded sleepily, his dazed eyes finding a point on the far wall. “Often enough, yes. Why?”

“Your dress-sense when I first met you, while...equally as charming and eccentric as your dress-sense now...did speak to a measure of refinement,” Oswald said. “You were accustomed to having money.”

“Not like they spent it on me _aside_ from necessities,” Edward muttered. “Not that I spent the paltry remainder I inherited. Why d'you think...I lived the way you got to see firsthand? Why'd you think I'd...have something like a sewing machine? I can repair things. Make them last.”

Lost for words, Oswald shifted closer to him on the mattress, bending low to kiss Edward's forehead.

“Then you can still do that,” he said softly. “With your memories, I mean. You're doing it already.”

Edward yawned, hummed, and closed his eyes. He grip on Oswald's hand against his chest slackened.

Satisfied, Oswald finished his evening routine, turned out the lights, and got into bed. He watched the entirety of _Deadpool_ out of morbid curiosity, this time on silent with subtitles.

That he slept a full night without any nightmares was a miracle, although a hint of the surreal awaited him on waking anyway. Edward's breath ghosted hotly across the side of his neck, and the languid roll of his hips against Oswald's backside suggested he hadn't forgotten his plans.

Oswald turned his face into the pillow. Edward tossed back the covers, hissed and swore at whatever he was trying to manipulate without getting up, and then wrapped slick fingers around Oswald's cock.

“Don't think I'd go back on my promise,” Edward said, releasing Oswald in order to let his fingers smear from the juncture of Oswald's right thigh up the curve of his hipbone. “Here,” he said, insinuating his pillow between Oswald's front and the mattress. “Drape your leg over it.”

“I know how this works,” Oswald groused, tilting his hips into the pillow as he twisted sideways.

“ _Mmm_ , not like this you don't,” said Edward, cheerfully, working two fingers inside him.

Oswald choked into the pillow that was still beneath his head, clawing at the edge of the mattress.

“Fuck you,” he gasped, his pained laughter melting into a moan as Edward drove the touch deeper.

“The contrary, I'm afraid,” said Edward, with mock-pity. “You won't break, but you _might_ beg.”

“You're too tired for this,” Oswald sneered, shoving back to meet him. “And I'm getting cold.”

“Oh dear,” Edward said sarcastically, shifting his weight on the mattress, withdrawing his fingers long enough to maneuver himself into position. “What a _travesty_ ,” he gasped, pushing inside.

Oswald tried to swallow his shout, but there was no sense in it. He wanted Edward right where he'd been all night, pressed against Oswald's spine, so Oswald reached back and caught Edward's thigh.

“ _Ow_!” Edward hissed, nonetheless pleased as Oswald's blunt nails sank into him. “Oswald.”

“You're not going back on your promise,” said Oswald, contently, as Edward began to rock into him slow and sweet. “I'm still teaching you a—thing or two about, _ah_ —responsibility.”

“That,” Edward managed, taking his turn to laugh as he melted against Oswald, “I can get behind.”


	7. When You Least Expect It

On Saturday afternoon, they reached Leixões, Portugal thirty minutes ahead of schedule. How it was already the twentieth of February, Edward didn't even know. Six days between sea and land had passed in a blur, and the dosage bump had done him a favor. His head was quiet.

Going ashore and making the short transfer to Oporto had not been on Oswald's list of locations for which they'd leave the ship, but the Jardim do Passeio Alegre tempted them both. Its avenues lined in palm trees and its dizzying array of plant life prompted Edward into taking more photographs in one location than he'd taken since his final crime-scene with the GCPD.

Given that it was only a nine-hour stop, Edward was sure that they wouldn't have time for a proper dinner and port-sampling. Nonetheless, they found a tourist-trap café with Quinta do Noval on the menu and suffered through Gabriel's sketchbook show-and-tell with glass after glass.

Sunday into Monday saw them overnight in Lisbon, during which time Oswald insisted they stay aboard while Caroline and Vee embarked upon a romantic get-away of their own. Edward pitied Gabriel for remaining tasked with the duty of tailing him and Oswald around the ship, but at least he got to enjoy the hilarity of Oswald griping his way through a Broadway-themed lounge show.

On Tuesday, the twenty-third, Edward woke gasping from a night-terror he couldn't remember.

As the sweat cooled on arms, Oswald stirred against Edward's side and pressed a kiss to his neck.

“Tell me what it was,” he murmured sleepily, lifting his head to peer at Edward. “What you saw.”

Edward shook his head in frustration, rolling away from Oswald, burying his face in the pillow.

“I was dreaming,” he muttered. “Feels like...it might have had something to do with the Court.”

“The Court has dissolved,” Oswald said, rubbing Edward's back. “Fish saw to the stragglers.”

Edward shook his head to clear it, rolling back to face Oswald. “It was...more like the story.”

“I've never been less happy to know there's a song stuck in your thoughts,” Oswald replied.

“Objectively speaking, it's a good song,” Edward pointed out. “And you'd look good in...” He waved his hand at the ceiling, letting it drop back onto the duvet. “Whatever garb would be period.”

“Next thing I know, you'll be suggesting a summer day-trip to Gotham Renaissance Faire,” Oswald said, tucking himself back against Edward's side. “The answer, in advance, is _no_.”

“I'm sure I can find people who'd appreciate it,” Edward yawned, relieved when no image materialized on closing his eyes. He blinked rapidly, willing the spots that swam in his vision to clear.

“We're cruising the Mediterranean today,” Oswald said conversationally. “What should we do?”

“If it were warmer out, I'd suggest drinks on the verandah until we're drunk enough to think karaoke's a swell idea,” Edward said, swiping his pill bottle off the nightstand. “I'll be right back.”

Oswald nodded, content to let Edward get up for purposes of following Dr. Kali's exacting orders.

In the bathroom, Edward studied his bedhead-plagued reflection before unscrewing the safety cap. He rattled the dosage into his palm, frowning at it. He'd stabilized, and he'd grown weary of tiring so early. He'd gotten away with skipping a dose here and there in Arkham, so _surely_...

He tipped the pills back into the bottle and screwed it shut. He filled the nearest glass with water, gulping it down just as Oswald barged in to check on him (under the pretense of using the toilet).

“Gabe just texted,” remarked Oswald, as unselfconscious as ever about relieving himself while Edward was in the room. “Get _this_. They wanted to know if we'll join them poolside after breakfast.”

Edward shrugged, arms folded, butt propped against the sink. “I came prepared for the eventuality.”

“If you think I own a swimsuit, that's absurd,” Oswald said, flushing the toilet, stepping up beside Edward to wash his hands, “but I'll _watch_ as long as the drinks keep coming.”

“We saw people playing volleyball in there the other day,” said Edward. “I'll bet Vee wants a match.”

“Then you and Gabe can give them a run for their money,” Oswald yawned, picking at his hair with one hand as he finished drying the other. “Or you and Caroline against Gabe and Vee, or...whatever.”

Oswald turned to look Edward up and down, as if he'd only just remembered they were both naked.

“We could skip the seating and grab fruit from the butler's pantry,” he suggested, pressing up against Edward, touching Edward's body attentively. “After we're cleaned up. On our way to the pool.”

Edward wrapped both arms around Oswald's waist, backing him against the shower door with a kiss.

“I'd like that,” he replied, waiting for Oswald to fumble the door open so they could stumble inside.

Under a deluge of hot water pressurized to perfection, precariously unfocused in the wake of sucking Oswald off, Edward dozed with his head in Oswald's lap while Oswald washed his hair. Afterward, Oswald switched their positions, settling Edward on the heated bench, sucking him deep.

A short while later, Edward felt self-conscious about leaving the penthouse in nothing but flip-flops, swim trunks, and a button-down linen shirt.

Oswald's chief concern was being seen eating a croissant on the fly. His ensemble—silk scarf instead of a tie, no jacket—was as modest as ever.

Edward supposed the thrill of Oswald palming his backside while they were alone in the elevator was worth it. He didn't like the way Caroline smirked at them from the shallow end when they arrived.

“I can almost imagine you on spring break or somethin',” she said, swimming up to the edge. “Cute.”

Oswald staked out the nearest reclining deck-chair that wasn't covered in splashes of chlorinated water.

“I've never had the privilege,” Edward told her, spotting the towel caddy to one side. He grabbed two and took them over to Oswald, offering his most apologetic expression. “Keep tabs on these for me?”

“You could just, I don't know,” suggested Oswald, stuffing them behind his head like a pillow, “get some fresh ones when you're done? They replace the linens constantly.”

“Fine, be like that,” said Edward, nervously. He unbuttoned his shirt, shed it, and dropped it in Oswald's lap before Oswald could do much more than squawk in protest. “Caroline, where's—”

“Vee?” Caroline cut in as Edward slipped into the water beside her, pointing across the pool. “Out there, racing Gabe from side to side,” she said, directing Edward's gaze to the pair swimming width-wise laps. “She's better than a drill sergeant if an ass-kicking's what you want.”

“I guess we won't be playing volleyball, then,” Edward sighed, sinking in till the water hit his chin.

“Nah, lifeguard couldn't find the ball,” Caroline sighed, slow to move from behind him. She hopped closer, sending ripples forward and around Edward. “Mr. N, you've got...”

Without warning, Caroline's swift hands flew to Edward's shoulders beneath the water, lifting him.

“Ed,” she whispered, holding him until he had his footing again, one fingertip tracing his faded scars.

“I'd say it's none of your business,” Edward hissed, adjusting his fogged glasses, “but Oswald must've—”

“Didn't tell me _shit_ ,” breathed Caroline, releasing him quickly, as if she'd just remembered the don't-touch-Edward rule. “I know the difference between fresh and... _well_. Those ain't new.”

“No,” Edward agreed, sinking back into the water until it touched his throat, turning to face her. The heat of it, combined with the muggy atmosphere of the vast indoor pool area, made him feel faint.

Caroline folded her arms across her flat chest, hiding the purplish ends of _her_ scars, which had been visible at the edges of the high underarm-cuts of her swimsuit. “I thought you might notice.”

“Yes, I did,” Edward admitted, backpedaling in case she had a mind to splash him. “Chemotherapy?”

Caroline shook her head. “It was preventative,” she said, arms falling loose. “High-risk genes in my family.”

“You're not worried about lung cancer?” Edward asked, realizing that Oswald had begun to listen in.

“No more than _you_ seem worried about Mr. C on that front,” Caroline challenged peevishly.

“You're as full of contradictions as anyone in Gotham,” Edward told her, his lungs constricting in spite of how emotionally impassive he felt. “You're not going to ask about mine?”

Caroline shook her head, sinking as deep as Edward, paddling in place. “No way,” she said. “Mom's got these things that look like cig burns. Never explained 'em. I know when scars are off-limits.”

“Then I recommend a change of subject, Ms. Fowler,” Oswald warned over the spine of his book.

Next to Oswald's chair, a familiar apparition hovered, bending to study Oswald's reading with disdain.

 _No you don't_ , Edward thought, blinking to fend off the sting in his eyes, breathing shallowly as he made his way for the steps and railing. _Your business is with me. Leave him be._

“Your benefactor doesn't know I'm here,” came the stern reply from behind Edward as he snagged a fresh towel from the cart and pretended to head for the restroom. “That's putting it politely.”

“The fact he doesn't know you're here, or your choice of the word _benefactor_?” Edward snapped, not daring to look back, striding barefoot across wet tile until he found the nearest glass door leading out on deck. He wrapped himself in the towel, shivering against the bite of wind, stepping up to the chest-high railing. “You're what I get for making a bad decision, aren't you?”

“Only _one_?” asked his father, with pointed severity, starch-sleeved forearms braced on the railing. “From what I can see, you've made a whole host of them. Starting with your choice of company.”

“Funny, but I thought it started with the puzzles,” Edward retorted. “With the chess. The _tests_.”

“I told you what would happen if your pursuits went unchecked,” his father said. “You didn't listen.”

“If you still think hobbies have some kind of connection to sexual preference, then death has knocked less sense into you than I thought,” Edward managed, wrapping himself more tightly in the towel. He spared the apparition one last glance, fixing his eyes on the horizon. “Women...didn't work out,” he continued, teeth chattering. “ _Nobody_ worked out. Except for Oswald.”

“Your fairytale knight in shining armor?” sneered his father, looming closer. “Get your head out of the clouds, Edward! A song's just that: a _song_. He'll tire of you before the verses are through.”

“ _Liar_!” Edward seethed, lashing out at the flash of movement to his left. “Oswald held fast! He—”

“Okie-doke,” Vee sighed, catching Edward's wrist in one hand and his towel in the other. “Time out.”

Edward blinked, his tears dissipating, too astonished to shake her off as she bundled him back into the towel. She wore a pair of surf shorts over her two-piece, her swept-back seafoam hair bedraggled.

“You followed me?” he asked uncertainly, reaching to touch Vee's face. “How did you know that I...”

Vee scrunched up her nose at the scrape of Edward's fingernails against her cheek, removing his hand.

“Call it a hunch,” she said, trapping Edward's hand between hers in a vise-grip. “I was watching.”

“I'm so...” Edward tentatively covered the back of her right hand with his free one. “I'm foolish.”

“Maybe,” Vee sighed, squeezing Edward's hand. “You either took a bad turn or skipped your meds.”

“Fine,” Edward blurted, shifting his gaze sidelong, fixating on tumultuous waves. “It was the latter.”

Vee uttered a string of Hebrew Edward didn't recognize, drawing his attention back, grounding him.

“I know about Bruce's trick,” she sighed, grinning lop-sided, “so one to ward off evil's worth a shot.”

“I don't believe in evil,” Edward told her, extracting his hand from her grasp. “I don't believe in—”

“C'mon, you schmuck,” Vee sighed, grabbing his wrist right back, dragging him toward the glass door. “Let's swing by the bar and pick up cocktails for everyone. Swear you'll tell boss about this later?”

“I swear,” said Edward, relieved, wondering at what point he'd grown comfortable enough to permit it.

  

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald, as drunk as he'd been for most of the day, was of the opinion that it was just as well that Edward had waited until after lunch, a pub-style quiz, _and_ dinner to inform him of what had transpired a the pool. Staring through the glass-topped coffee table, he drained his wine, listening to the _click_ of Kali's hang-up. He was so distressed at Edward's deception that he couldn't think.

“You took it,” Oswald prompted, tossing the cell phone carelessly onto the table. “Right?”

“Yes, before lunch,” Edward sighed, slumping where he sat. “While I was showering off.”

“She says I have to watch you take it every time,” Oswald said sourly. “For the foreseeable.”

“No argument there,” said Edward, his tone suggesting defeat. “D'you think I'm pleased?”

“I think you know what I'm thinking, Ed,” Oswald muttered, setting his glass on the table.

“I know that you're too intoxicated to properly yell at me,” Edward said apprehensively.

Oswald shrugged, taking Edward's hand loosely against the sofa cushion, closing his eyes.

“We might need to take Kali up on her suggestion of therapy,” he said with immense effort.

Edward nodded balefully at the floor, his thumb fidgeting over the engraving on Oswald's ring.

“Only if you'll do it with me,” he countered. “I don't want to have to rehash. It's exhausting.”

Oswald opened his eyes, turned his head, and looked at Edward. It took more effort than speech, so he tipped sideways against Edward, resting his head against Edward's shoulder in acquiescence. Edward _sounded_ sincere, but how could Oswald even be sure?

“I can't bear what you saw,” he whispered. “I should've been the one to follow you, I should've—”

“Vee was equipped to snap me out of it,” Edward interrupted, but not unkindly. “I'm surrounded by philosophical lay clergy,” he went on. “I have no idea why it's effective.”

“It's because you're highly suggestible,” Oswald said, curling his arm around Edward's waist. “The Wayne boy knows what he's about, and he knows what _you're_ about, too.”

“Why do you never call him Bruce?” asked Edward, with a touch of peevishness. “That's his name.”

Oswald sniffed against Edward's collar, sitting up straight. If Edward saw his tears, so be it. He deserved to know at least a fraction of the fuzzy-headed hell Oswald was experiencing.

“I'm not on a familiar basis with him like you are,” Oswald said hazily. “That'd require...respect.”

“He's more worthy of respect than many his age,” cautioned Edward, yawning. “Don't write him off.”

Oswald considered the empty Château Soutard bottle on the table before him. He longed to talk with Ivy, with Fish, with anyone who'd have a chance at, if not understanding, _comforting_ him.

“Come to bed with me,” Edward murmured, nuzzling Oswald's temple. “I'm tired, Oswald. Please.”

“You go ahead,” said Oswald, dully, not looking up when Edward got to his feet. “I'll be right there.”

Oswald waited until the sounds of Edward moving about at the heart of the penthouse ceased, until the bedroom light through the lattice-work faded. He didn't rise until the soft sound of Edward's snoring pervaded the entire space, snatching the wine-bottle as he went.

Removing the label under steaming water in the kitchen sink took far less time than he thought. He was reminded of each time his mother had, during his childhood, indulged him in the act of removing shampoo labels during bath-time. The paper flaked away like snow.

Laying out bottle, cork, ship stationery, and his favorite pen, Oswald resumed his seat on the sofa and started to write.


	8. Bones of Coral Made

 

 

_Insistently, you told stories about heroes. Sang me songs of them, even the ones whose quests led first to ruin. I could never understand why that was; even then, it was clear to me that those were shoes I'd never fill._

_Otherwise, you'd always say: be quick, Oswald. Be clever. You'll be a great man one day._

_You are dead and gone now. That, I cannot change. I used those tales in an attempt to save you, and I failed. Mythology has its uses, but I lacked focus. I did not know which story I was telling._

_Indulge me this joke, a moment of self-deprecation. Believe me when I say that the tide does turn, that your words, both spoken and sung, weren't for naught. I tripped into the least expected narrative of them all, the one where the figure who, by any other account, would be the damsel in distress gets to do the saving. You would have been amazed at it—my shapeshifting lover, the imposing keep, the masked demon-queen, the glove and green mantle. Through trial by fire, I won._

_There is so much to tell you, and so much yet to be done. What you never told me about endings is that they're always indicative of the middle. In medias res. While I didn't go to college like you wanted for all of five minutes—impatience, so honestly I come by it—I can talk shop._

_Edward's shifts, his changes: these are what I fear I cannot weather. A slower, stranger kind have been swift to follow our proverbial fairy court's gambit. And that, I can scarcely stand._

_I wish I could speak to you, seek your advice. Fish is of use in these matters, but she is not here. I'm cast adrift. This method of delivery is hardly fool-proof, but where else should the dead go but down?_

_All my love, or at least—what's left of it, Mother, that my husband has not claimed by my surrender._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an intermission ficlet at this point, **_[When the Penguin's Away](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12043797)_** , that shows you what's going on back in Gotham while they're on this trip. There's a piece of key foreshadowing, so you may wish to err on the side of reading it before you move on.


	9. Find You Again

In and out of sluggish consciousness, Edward knew this much: Oswald had not followed him to bed.

There'd been silence for a short while, followed by the sound of Oswald moving about the penthouse with a gait of distinct purpose. Water running in the kitchen—full force, punishing, accompanied by the scrape of Oswald's blunt fingernails against something unyielding.

And then silence for another spell, after which the sound of the sliding verandah door woke Edward again. He rolled over with a restless groan, winding himself in the badly-skewed covers.

Whatever Oswald had been doing out there, he hadn't done it for long. Smoking, perhaps, to calm his nerves. The sound of him returning was less soft, undershot with erratic, half-swallowed sobs.

Edward thrashed against the covers, consumed with certainty that he should go to him. However hard he tried, his limbs wouldn't obey. He huffed into the pillow, unable to sustain wakefulness for long.

Oswald's choked sigh of relief, from the direction of the sofa, was what finally rendered Edward alert.

“I'm sorry for coming to you with this,” Oswald was saying, tone raw and helpless. “But I don't know what else to do. You were right about me, Fish. I'm weak. All I've really learned is how to hide it.”

Edward sat up in bed, leaning forward with a gasp. He was tense, still disoriented, his nerves jangling.

Oswald erupted in bitter laughter at whatever Fish, on the other end of the line, had to say in response.

“I may have learned from the best, but I haven't mastered it. I lost my mother when I needed her most. I did you the harm I thought you deserved—for what you did to me, an eye for an eye. Oh, _sure_. It's too little, too late, but at we've made peace with that. At least I have you.”

“Eye for a leg's more like it,” Edward muttered, kicking off the covers, drawing his knees to his chest.

“Wait,” Oswald said after a slightly longer pause, voice wavering afresh. “I don't understand. What do you _mean_? They were abusive, and he's hallucinating them. There's nothing more to tell.”

 _Oh no_ , Edward thought, closing his eyes against a dozen sequences of events that might lead to Fish having gained access to his history in painful detail. _Oh no, oh no, oh no_.

“Under the floorboards?” echoed Oswald, quietly. “A what, a—scrapbook? Really. I see. There was _what_?” He took a breath characterized more by dismay than anger. “Oh my _God_ , he—”

Edward lay back down again, eyes screwed shut, curling up as small and tight as he could manage.

“As soon as I can,” said Oswald, levelly, with curious and gentle resolve. “I promise, Fish. I will.”

There was the sound of Oswald's cell phone coming into contact with the coffee table, followed by Oswald's footfalls—more stilted than usual, distressingly so—coming around the partition and into the bedroom. Perhaps thinking Edward asleep, Oswald shed his clothes and got into bed.

 _Coward_ , Kristen hissed, so faint from the abyss as to be indiscernible. _Unless you hold your tongue, there's nothing left to fear._

Edward rolled over so that his back was no longer to Oswald, placing his left hand carefully over Oswald's heart.

Oswald's pulse spiked in alarm, but his fingers were quick to find Edward's.

“I heard everything,” Edward whispered. “Everything you said, anyway. I know what she found.”

“Fish told me,” said Oswald, voice clear against the backdrop of the ship's thrum, “to ask you about the...scrapbook, the album, whatever...that's hidden in the floor under your desk. She mentioned newspaper clippings, handwritten notes...” He swallowed, tapping Edward's hand. “A letter.”

Edward didn't know where to begin, as tangled in self-loathing as the memory was, but he would try.

“My father was abusive to me and to my mother,” he said. “I think you've got the gist of it. You've seen my scars, my... _mind_. You know what you need to know about that.”

Oswald nodded, turning his head against the pillow so he could squint at Edward in the semidarkness.

“Fish told me the accident that killed your parents was suspect,” he said. “Before we left Gotham.”

“I know that, too,” Edward sighed. “I was in the hall for a lot longer than I let on. I was listening.”

“I don't care about that now,” Oswald said, eyes widening rather than narrowing. “I need you to tell—”

“He took her from me, as paltry a thing as she was to take,” Edward said, raising his voice. “She was the better of the two by far, if it's lesser evils we're endlessly debating, _so_...”

Oswald held him until he'd sobbed himself free of what he'd seen that day on the verandah. Serene and bright-eyed, always. Slim and tired, sleepless, her day-dresses a dazzling and fierce array of green.

“Why did you know it wasn't an accident?” Oswald asked softly. “Why you, when the GCPD didn't?”

“Because my father left a suicide note,” Edward gritted out, his anguish so palpable Oswald couldn't stand it, “and a string of clues— _clues_ , Oswald. He made a puzzle of it. One that he knew only I'd be able to solve.”

Oswald's grasp tightened in fury, relaxing after a moment. “He used the thing you loved most in the world against you.”

“Not only that, but the one thing he hated most about me,” Edward sighed, lightheaded with uneasy relief. “What justice would there have been if I'd taken it to the police? He was already dead.”

“Oh, _Ed_ ,” Oswald murmured, pulling Edward so close that he had no choice but to sprawl over him. “Did you think that—that I wouldn't understand? Or was it—was it just too much for you to—”

“The more I dwelt on it, the more I...saw of myself...that I disliked,” Edward admitted. “In the mirror.”

Oswald laughed again, even lower and more bitter than he'd sounded while on the phone with Fish.

“I'd kill him for you,” he said with loving, ruthless conviction. “If he were still alive, Ed, I would—”

“I changed my major from Chemistry to Forensics once they were buried,” Edward gasped, finding the next stretch of admission distasteful. “I thought—if I put my observation skills to use, my ability to decipher clues—maybe I wouldn't turn out like him, I'd prevent others—”

“No,” Oswald murmured, pressing a soothing kiss against Edward's cheek. “There's no use thinking like that. After what Strange did to me, there was—a great deal of that, of—false conclusions.”

Edward nodded, unable to see between his eyes' status quo and the tears that he couldn't seem to stem.

“Well,” he said, laughter welling up to join Oswald's sentiment of before. “I know _now_. Nothing turned out like I hoped, Oswald. _Almost_ nothing.”

“That almost, I think, is the catch,” Oswald said, rubbing patiently at the tears on Edward's cheeks. “If there's anything I _do_ know, it's that Arkham and all the rest of it made us stronger. More than that, I...” He brushed his lips hesitantly against Edward's, deepening the kiss only when Edward responded in kind. “I believe our parallel and improbable adversities brought us together.”

“That's...” Edward huffed and kissed Oswald again, in rising delight. “Those are...excellent words.”

“Parallel, improbable, adversities,” Oswald said, ruffling Edward's hair. “Incandescent. _Disheveled_.”

“There are more,” Edward replied, holding Oswald tight, “but I won't tell you till I hear you say them.”

“I'd worry if you didn't,” yawned Oswald, drained. “If you lost that...what's the...element of surprise.”

“Go to sleep,” Edward told him, struck by how unusual it was for him to be the one speaking that phrase. “You must have needed to talk to Fish. Desperately. I'm sorry that I—what can I _do_?”

“For now, you have it right,” Oswald mumbled, situating them face to face on their sides. “Sleep.”

By Edward's reckoning, it must have been five o'clock in the morning when at last they drifted off. They woke around four o'clock in the evening, which resulted in a less-than-ideal scramble to get Edward's latest quetiapine dose in him.

Edward took it without complaint, seated at one end of the sofa while Oswald—situated at the other, impatient at how long their brunch delivery was taking—propped both feet in Edward's lap.

“You're a mess,” Edward told him, making a critical assessment while he massaged Oswald's calves.

“Look who's talking,” Oswald scoffed, leaning blearily against the sofa-back. “If I wasn't hung-over...”

“You'd nothing,” Edward groused cheerfully, shifting Oswald's feet out of his lap as the butler knocked.

Once they'd eaten and gotten themselves in slightly better spirits, Edward fetched slippers for both of them and helped Oswald hobble out onto the verandah. They both enjoyed watching the sunset.

The port of Barcelona loomed before of them, backlit in the hushed consolation of lavender and rose.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They docked at nearly seven o'clock in the evening, an hour behind schedule. This suited Oswald fine, as the hotel he'd told Caroline to book them onshore could only offer late check-in on short notice.

Edward spent the entirety of their limousine transfer from the docks to La Ribera, the city's ancient heart, speechlessly amazed at the architecture. On the plush seats across from them, Vee and Caroline dozed against each other while Gabriel sketched halfheartedly.

“Just so you know, boss,” he said, erasing the point of a spire. “This place we're stayin', it's three-star.”

“Yes, but it's two miles from Sagrada Familia,” Oswald said. “And even closer to Santa Maria del Mar.”

“The place is a refurbished eighteenth-century palace,” said Edward, absently. “You can't go wrong.”

“Says Google,” Caroline yawned, rubbing her eyes, blinking out the window. “Look at those lights.”

Vee had been awake the whole time, feigning sleep to avoid conversation. “Mmmhm,” she agreed.

Dinner was everything Oswald had dreamed. His mother's decades-old memories of seafood paella couldn't hold a candle to reality; meanwhile, Edward stuck stubbornly to the vegetarian version that Vee, too, had ordered several tables away from them.

However Edward's current aversions were connected to his guilt, or to the ghosts he wished to banish, or to retrieving some lost sense of self—Oswald resolved not to ask. They refrained from wine given Oswald's lately-banished headache, although the complimentary shots of Teichenné peach schnapps in lieu of dessert worked a treat.

There was no blaming drunkenness for the way they ambled, reckless and grinning, down the winding streets that led back to Mercer House on Calle Bòria. Edward squinted up at the balcony he knew was theirs, delaying them on the pavement. He kissed Oswald by lamplight, brazen.

“You should take me upstairs, Oswald,” Edward suggested, “before I'm tempted to cause a spectacle.”

“Says who I'm not enjoying being a part of it for a change?” Oswald asked, aiming for a lighthearted tease, knowing he would have lost his footing if not for Edward's hold on him. “But your argument is compelling.”

Vee and Caroline held the doors for them, exchanging glances suffused with a kind of subdued relief.

“I think they were starting to worry,” Edward sighed against Oswald's mouth once they were alone in the elevator. He had Oswald trapped in one corner, palms eager against Oswald's backside.

“And _I_ think they're glad to be signing off duty. If this is your revenge for yesterday morning,” Oswald taunted, “then take it as far as you like.”

“My plan is to deflect, admittedly,” Edward said, “and ask _you_ to take _me_.”

“Repetitive of you, Ed,” Oswald chided, tugging him into the hall once they'd been released by the elevator's _ding_. “I've been under that impression ever since you kissed me in the street.”

“That was thoughtless of me,” said Edward, darkly, once they were safe in their room and Oswald had pushed him down on the bed. “I'm forgetting we're the subject of...of considerable...”

He trailed off while Oswald propped his cane against the nightstand and proceeded to remove his clothing, piece by piece, and discard it on the floor. That Edward's arousal always heightened in the face of what he considered careless behavior on Oswald's part was _maddeningly_ attractive.

“You like this?” Oswald asked, only meeting Edward's gaze once he had stepped out of his trousers.

“Yes,” Edward breathed, letting his tie slither off the bed, reaching in flattering desperation. “I do.”

Oswald climbed onto the mattress, ignoring the pain that flared in his knee. It was no worse than what he contended with on any given walking-heavy day, and he wanted so fiercely to have Edward now that another sheath of habitual secrets had slipped away.

“I should've told them to bring you another shot or two,” Oswald said, taking his time about undressing Edward. He got rid of the bottom layers first, except for Edward's socks, closing Edward's erection in his grasp without warning. “You're too far gone for what you're asking.”

“You can, you...can take me anyway,” Edward panted, pushing into Oswald's fist. “Whether I...”

“Don't think you're getting off that easy,” Oswald said, letting go of Edward long enough to yank off his socks. He braced himself on Edward's thighs, dipping to suck just long enough for a taste.

“Oswald, it's—it's too warm here, I'm too—” Edward whimpered, tugging at Oswald's shoulders.

“ _Shhh_ ,” Oswald soothed, giving Edward another lick before crawling up the length of Edward's body to deal with his shirt and waistcoat. “Then let me get you out of these, too.”

“Don't turn down the covers,” Edward whispered, pulling Oswald tight against him. “I'm too close.”

Edward lasted another few minutes, through breathless kisses and lingering touches on every part of him within Oswald's reach. Oswald soothed him quiet once he'd stopped shaking, cleaned them up just enough to make moving forward with lubricant a comfortable affair.

“This is...nice, feeling sleepy for this,” Edward sighed, relaxed to a shocking degree as Oswald moved several fingers inside of him. Clumsily, he got hold of the uncapped tube beside him, squeezing as much onto the duvet as he got on his fingers. “It's not fair, you're not even...”

Oswald hissed at the excruciatingly lovely distraction that was Edward's slick fingers on him.

“If I wasn't before, I am now,” he said, withdrawing his fingers, easing Edward's hand off him so that he could ensure someone with even a _shred_ of coordination was in charge.

“It's fine,” Edward said, eyes fluttering shut as Oswald pushed inside of him. “I just, I want to...” He sighed as Oswald shifted his position, clasping them chest to chest. “Feel you.”

Oswald rocked into him leisurely, too overwhelmed to rush. “Well, I hope... _ah_ , I hope this is...”

“Don't be offended if I fall asleep,” Edward said, smirking against Oswald's cheek. “I probably could.”

Moaning through a fit of helpless laughter, Oswald slapped his thigh. “Is that a challenge, Edward?”

“No more than usual,” Edward said, humming when Oswald changed his angle. “Oh. _Oh_ , I...”

Oswald gave in to Edward's renewed sense of urgency, came gasping as Edward clenched around him.

They slept soundly until the early hours of dawn, during which Oswald woke well before Edward. He drowsed as well as he could through the twinges in his calf—taking solace in the heat of Edward's body, in the knowledge that they'd navigated yet another snare.

They weren't due to cast off until evening, so Oswald had their things sent back to the ship with Gabriel after breakfast. He insisted that Caroline and Vee accompany him and Edward to Santa Maria del Mar.

“It's breathtaking, isn't it,” Edward marveled, eyes fixed on the model ship suspended beneath a weathered statue of the Virgin and Child. “The greenery in here, those palms—I didn't expect it.”

“My mother came here when she was very young,” Oswald said, lost in recollection. “She used to tell me Spain was one of the most exciting places she ever visited.” He pursed his lips, unable to withhold the sentiment any longer. “I wish you could have met her.”

“Oh,” said Edward, suddenly tense beside Oswald, continuing to smile nonetheless. “[I did](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12004431).”

Oswald blinked at him, certain he must have misheard. “Ed, I'm...really not sure I understand.”

“Before you start shouting about this, you need to consider that, one, we're in a church, and two—”

“Why didn't you _tell_ me?” Oswald blurted, tempted to shake him. “It might have saved—”

“We've been together in the romantic sense just shy of three months,” Edward snapped. “I've had a lot to tell you, and I haven't been able to do it all at once. I was... _busy_ for a lot of that time, and...”

Oswald did his best to get his breathing under control, squeezing Edward's hand. “Apologies. Go on.”

“She came to the GCPD,” Edward explained, eyes darting back to the statue. “Not long after I started working there. The first time I heard your name was from her lips. She tried to report you missing.”

Oswald felt the spark of coincidence, of Edward's harped-on sense of fate, fall on them like grace.

“She never could keep my shifts straight,” he said dazedly. “Not even after I wrote them down for her. That must've been at least the third time she did that. Was everyone else sick of her?”

“That was about the shape of it,” Edward agreed. “Harvey ran away, so I brought her a cup of tea.”

Oswald yanked Edward around to face him, staring up at him in utter disbelief. “You did what?”

“Cup of tea?” Edward repeated, shrugging, eyebrows raised. “Nobody else would calm her down.”

“After all the conversations we've had,” Oswald replied, “I can't believe we're having this one now.”

“Elderflower ginger,” Edward said, seemingly a non-sequitur until his expression reflected the same devastated awe that Oswald felt. “Oh,” he whispered. “Oh _dear_.”

“I believe in a lot of things,” replied Oswald, touching Edward's cheek, “but God isn't one of them.”


	10. Nothing That Fades

That evening, after cast-off and dinner, Edward convinced Oswald that they should give their retinue the slip and spend some time alone in the Crystal Cove. They'd only visited the cosy piano bar on one previous evening, and Edward had preferred its atmosphere to the Galaxy.

They tucked themselves in a far corner with Sazeracs, enjoying the Gershwin background accompaniment. White leather chairs pushed together, they watched dusk fall on the dark water.

“I'm looking forward to seeing the south of France tomorrow,” Edward said. “Or at least a piece of it.”

“It's an eight a.m. through ten p.m. stop,” Oswald cautioned, almost finished with his cocktail. “If we go ashore, we'll be rushed. I was thinking we might look into spa services instead?”

“I've kept your legs _thoroughly_ massaged, thank you,” replied Edward, aware he was pouting.

Oswald leaned over and kissed him, index and middle fingers poised affectionately at Edward's chin.

“I can only do so much about how tense _you_ are, and some required positions make it worse."

Edward flushed, realizing that someone had approached them from behind. He tipped his head back.

“This had better be good,” he told Gabriel, indicating that he should pull a chair around. “What is it?”

Gabriel looked to Oswald for further permission, which Oswald gave with an impatient tilt of his head.

“I got news from the ladies you ain't gonna like, boss,” he said, settling with an Old Fashioned in hand.

“I assume it's something to the effect of how recklessly we're behaving right now?” Oswald asked.

“Nah, worse,” Gabriel sighed, stirring his drink with its cherry-impaled straw. “It's about earlier.”

“Ashore earlier? Re-boarding earlier?” Edward prompted, sucking down half his glass. “Out with it.”

Oswald set a restraining hand on Edward's thigh, addressing Gabriel. “I'm not very pleased right now.”

“Neither am I,” Gabriel said, pulling his phone out of his breast pocket. He flipped through a number of texts, and then handed it to Oswald. “Vee sent me that while you and Ed were in the cathedral.”

“ _Which_ cathedral?” prompted Edward, impatiently, unable to catch a glimpse of the text because Oswald was holding the phone well away from him. “We visited two of them.”

Oswald snapped the phone shut and glanced up at Gabriel, his expression awash in sudden alarm.

“She sent that as we were leaving Santa Maria del Mar,” he said. “It persisted at Sagrada Familia?”

Gabriel nodded gravely, at which Edward experienced a spike of irritation over his blatant exclusion.

“Gone by the time you left there to come back to the ship,” he confirmed. “Without a trace, boss.”

Oswald shrunk in on himself, slipping into the foulest mood Edward had seen during their trip to date.

“Contact whoever you need to contact, Gabe,” he seethed, “to find out who the _hell's_ behind this!”

“Sure thing, boss,” said Gabriel, departing with his glass in hand, confident in his sense of purpose.

Edward leaned over once he was gone, sliding his arm carefully about Oswald's hunched shoulders.

“You need to tell me what's going on, Oswald,” he said, struggling to keep his tone even. “I can help.”

“Paradise never lasts,” Oswald sighed, slumping into Edward's embrace. “Someone was tailing us.”

Edward nodded, unsurprised at the bad news. “Which of our enemies have Continental presence?”

“I'd bet the entirety of my fortune on what's left of the old-world Maroni faction,” Oswald muttered.

“This is why I don't like the amped-up press coverage,” Edward admitted. “Maybe we _should_ stay—”

“No,” resolved Oswald, straightening his posture. “We'll go ashore tomorrow like nothing's amiss. We'll take all three of our guards, and we'll stay within a reasonable distance of the docks.”

Edward considered this, perceiving Oswald's intent. “You intend to bait them,” he said. “Continue to play the lovestruck tourists while Gabe, Caroline, and Vee collect intel.”

“The Maroni family had major trade operations in Monaco,” Oswald explained. “They still might.”

“Monte Carlo, of course,” Edward sighed, finishing off his cocktail unhappily. “Our last port of call.”

 _Go on, Eddie,_ said one of the remaining mirror-slivers, seductively insistent. _It'll be fun_.

“I sincerely hope that engagement won't be necessary,” said Oswald, gently squeezing Edward's thigh.

Edward leaned in closer, letting his tongue brush discreetly against Oswald's earlobe before kissing it.

“You,” he whispered, enjoying the way Oswald shivered closer into his embrace, “are a terrible liar.”

They had one more drink each and spoke no more of it, although Oswald sent an instruction-laden text to Fish and Zsasz. The hapless pianist endured their tipsy, if sedate renditions of _Embraceable You_ and _Someone to Watch Over Me_ with grace. They tipped her generously.

Back at the penthouse, Edward talked Oswald into being blindfolded with his own tie. One meticulous full-body massage later, Edward rolled a melted Oswald onto his back. He alternated between licking Oswald's nipples and the tip of his cock until Oswald climaxed with a sigh.

“You're so quiet sometimes,” Edward murmured, stroking him through the come-down. “How's that?”

Oswald opened his eyes, pink-cheeked and breathing heavily. “Really, Ed?” he asked, hauling Edward down against him, locking his legs around Edward's hips. “Because you're _not_.”

Under the circumstances, Edward was happy to let Oswald coax him into a shameless demonstration.

The next morning, they rose an hour ahead of their docking time and took particular care with dressing for their suspected audience. Oswald favored high collars and all-black ensembles when he wished to look particularly threatening, and Edward couldn't blame him. He tipped his bowler at the iridescent green splash he added to their reflection, bending to kiss the side of Oswald's neck.

“I'll send word ahead to Monaco,” Oswald vowed, stroking along Edward's jaw, “for extra weapons.”

“I want a switchblade,” Edward breathed against Oswald's cheek, wrapping both arms around him.

 

  

* * *

 

 

With one arm tucked permanently into the crook of Edward's right elbow, Oswald let Edward drag them in and out of every shop that caught his fancy. Cassis, home to a delectable array of selections in white and rosé, saw to it that their wine haul expanded by half a dozen more bottles.

By the time they stopped for lunch in a harborside café, Edward seemed cross that Vee, Caroline, and Gabriel had absolutely nothing to report. Oswald, on the other hand, was secretly relieved.

“What's the Marseille mob called?” Edward asked, finishing his salmon _tartiflette_ with ravenous intent. “I read about it once, but now I forget.”

“The Milieu primarily restrict themselves to the larger cities,” said Oswald, in faint astonishment, as Edward cleaned his plate down to the last few smears of sauce. “Why's that different from all the rest of the seafood you've been refusing to eat?”

Vee snickered into her Americano at the next table over. “Fins and scales,” she said with smug delight.

“Shut up,” Edward snapped. “It's at least partly your fault that I feel like keeping kosher right now.”

“For what it's worth,” Caroline offered, kicking Vee's foot under the table, “no shellfish and stuff like that probably meshes better with your digestion while that drug's playing havoc.”

Oswald supposed that any scenario in which Edward was less likely to throw up what he'd eaten—especially since he'd _started_ eating again—counted as a win. “Then I'm glad,” he said.

Edward sat back, folding his arms across his chest as he lifted his glass to his lips. “No sightings?”

“Not a damn one,” Gabriel said, finishing his latest sweep of the square with binoculars. “Crickets.”

“Whoever it was,” said Vee, around a swallow of coffee, “they probably couldn't send someone ahead.”

“If the snooping was localized to Spain,” Oswald said, “then we have little to worry about. They were likely just making sure we had no intentions of conducting business on their turf.”

Edward bit the edge of his glass in vague discontentment. “Some excitement would've been... _nice_.”

Oswald reached across the table and took Edward's free hand, drawing it up to his lips for a brief kiss.

“Is there anything else you'd like to see, my love?” Oswald asked softly, indicating to the peanut gallery that he wanted no further discourse with them for the time being. “ _Ed_?”

Edward snapped out of his reverie. “A stroll down to see the Statue de Calendal would be swell.”

On their way to the sculpture site, they endured a handful of camera-snaps. Oswald remained indifferent, whereas Edward's attitude shifted from initially avoidant to downright _exhibitionist_.

“If you're doing this because you hope it'll serve as press ahead of our final stop,” said Oswald, nipping at Edward's lower lip, pushing away from the guard-rail against which Edward had backed him up, “then it's foolish. They don't care _what_ we do. It's the mere fact that we're _here_.”

“I should think there's a measure of distaste regardless,” said Edward, adjusting his hat as they approached the monument. “Had by few, treasured by all. Inside and outside, I make men fall. What am I?”

“ _You're_ beautiful,” Oswald agreed, leaning hard on his cane. He shaded his eyes, squinting at the object of Edward's admiration. “I guess you're right,” he said. “It's the way he's haloed in sun.”

“Frédéric Mistral was a respected linguist and lexicographer,” Edward said, admiring the statue's distant, yet provocative stance. “He won the 1904 Nobel Prize in Literature. Our hero, Calendal,” he went on, gesturing at the handsome figure, “fell in love with a sea-sprite named—”

“Estérel. Yes, I know this one,” Oswald sighed fondly. “Calendal's lover never returned from the sea.”

Edward turned his back on the sculpture, taking Oswald's hands in his own, letting Oswald's cane fall.

“I wish that my mother had shared stories the way your mother shared the ones dear to her,” he said.

Oswald held Edward's wistful gaze, swaying with the gusts off the sea. “What was her name?”

“Vera Nashton,” Edward replied after a moment's hesitation. “Née Sendry, which was _Szendrei_ —” he spelled it out “—before it reached the United States. Just ahead of the second World War.”

“Then your family, they were safe from...” Oswald abandoned the train of thought. “What nationality?”

“Besides Jewish?” asked Edward, lost in contemplation. “ _Oh_. They were from Hungary.”

“I never knew we shared that much, either,” Oswald said in admiration. “Shall we head north, then?”

“I don't see why not,” Edward said, breaking into a slow smile. “I'm baffled as to why we remain in port tomorrow night, even though we reach Monte Carlo at dawn. Let's ditch the ship early.”

“I'd rather the extra day onboard,” Oswald insisted, winking at Edward, “for purely selfish reasons.”

They had Gabriel escort them back to the ship several hours early, leaving Caroline and Vee to roam.

Once they'd finished one of Edward's bottles of wine and lost more than half their clothing en route to bed, Edward slept soundly for a few _more_ hours while Oswald held him and read. He woke when, seconds after Oswald's phone lit up, someone knocked frantically on their door.

“Stay there,” Oswald said, leaving Edward with a touch against his side. “It's Caroline. She texted.”

Edward nodded and closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around the nearest pillow in lieu of Oswald.

“Boss,” said a voice that was distinctly _not_ Caroline's, its owner barging inside. “ _Boss_!”

Oswald helped Vee steer a disturbed-seeming Caroline over to the sofa, where he opened another bottle of wine. Whatever had happened, they'd returned to the ship in one piece. Small mercies.

“Been a while since I had to do that,” said Caroline, shakily, accepting the glass Oswald offered her.

“What's going on?” Edward asked, picking at the knot he'd just tied in his robe. “Vee, _what_ —”

“Somebody tried to fire at us while I wasn't looking,” Vee said grimly. “Caroline gunned 'em down.”

“Cast-off is in forty-five minutes,” said Oswald, taking a seat beside Caroline. “We'll be long gone.”

“You disposed of your weapons?” Edward asked, reaching across the coffee table to take both the bottle of wine and Oswald's phone off his hands. “I know it's a condescending question, but—”

“Ed, where are you going with those?” demanded Oswald, as mystified as he was empty-handed.

“Check-in with Kali,” Edward said, wandering out. “I'll take care of this, you take care of that.”


	11. Anything, Anywhere

Edward sat down on the edge of the bed, drinking straight from the bottle, listening to Kali's question.

“It's still making me tired a lot earlier than I'd like,” he replied. “But I've had no resurgence of the suicidal ideation, and my hallucinations have made themselves sca— _well_. Not entirely true. I had a whisper from my conscience, in the guise of Miss Kringle, when I told Oswald about my parents. And there was something resembling the _other_ one when I thought about how much I'll enjoy it if we get held up in Monte Carlo by— _oh_ dear. I don't think I'm supposed to mention—”

“About that,” Kali cut in, her tone waxing strained, “there is someone else here who'd like a word.”

“Hiya, sport,” said Zsasz, taking the phone away from Kali. “How's vacay? Thanks for the postcard.”

“Don't mention it,” said Edward, glibly. “Why are you interested in the progress of my treatment?”

“Yeah, um,” said Zsasz, falsely apologetic. “I'm kind of...not. Ulterior motive. Is the boss around?”

“Oswald is occupied,” Edward replied, easily surmising the reason for this interlude. “Someone ambushed Caroline and Vee once we were back on the ship. Testing their mettle, I assume.”

“Goddamn,” Zsasz sighed. “Yeah, Ms. Mooney and I, we've...caught wind of some shenanigans.”

“You will tell me everything,” Edward insisted. “And I will relay the message to my husband.”

Zsasz huffed impatiently. “Listen, I don't know how much you know about what's left of the Maroni operation, but it's all on that side of the pond. They know what happened to good old Sal. It wasn't safe for 'em to send an offensive over here, but apparently there's been a hit issued for boss, and now likely for you, if you ever so much as set foot on their European turf. _Capisce_?”

“Message received,” Edward confirmed, tapping the wine bottle. “Did you get anything out of...whomever had the pleasure of a stay in your basement? We'd like to plan ahead.”

“Just that you should watch your backs in Monte Carlo,” Zsasz sighed. “Wish to God Olga was there.”

“Caroline made her first kill in ages,” Edward replied. “She's shaken. Vee is _incredibly_ proud.”

“I'd have those two on my crew if they weren't so attached to you and the kids,” said Zsasz, hanging up.

Edward set the phone aside on the nightstand, polishing off the wine as Oswald came into the bedroom.

“I've sent them on their way,” he sighed, taking a seat beside Edward. “We'll need to be quite vigilant.”

“Zsasz took the phone partway through my report to Kali,” Edward said. “He wanted to speak to you.”

“Then why isn't he _still_ on the phone?” asked Oswald, testily. “This implies that he's got intel.”

“He tortured so-and-so former Maroni underling who's still got ties to what's left of the family here in Europe,” said Edward, flopping back on the mattress. “The victim cited a threat to us. To _you_ specifically, given the hit's likely been in effect since Fish killed Maroni, but now it extends to me.”

“Would've been useful to know this detail _before_ we decided on this cruise,” Oswald seethed.

“You've had other things to worry about,” Edward replied, shrugging. “The Maroni clan is history.”

“Here, Edward,” Oswald pointed out, “if what Victor has learned is true? They _make_ history.”

“You've secured weapons not only for our security detail, but also for us,” Edward reminded him.

Oswald leaned forward to examine the wine-bottle before lying down on his back beside Edward.

“All so we can make it off the ship and to the train station,” he groaned. “We're likely outnumbered.”

“We only have to be faster than they are,” Edward pointed out. “And have better aim, which we do.”

“Your experience with traditionalists is limited,” said Oswald, rolling to face him. “I know how these cretins operate. I almost didn't survive Maroni on several occasions. They're formidable.”

Edward nodded tipsily at the ceiling, letting his head flop sideways so he could nuzzle Oswald's cheek.

“Then we only have to be faster than they are,” he repeated. “Faster, Oswald. And more clever, too.”

“Let's delay disembarkation until the last minute,” said Oswald, decisively. “That gives us all of a night, a day, and a night before we have to face them.” He kissed Edward's forehead. “We'll relax tonight and tomorrow, and spend tomorrow evening plotting. Sunday morning, we go ashore.”

“The best-laid of my kind, for both mice and men, oft go awry,” said Edward, moodily. “What am I?”

“You said we need to be cleverer than our enemies,” Oswald soothed. “ _Your_ plan just might be.”

“Be glad I didn't recite you that one in Burns's original Scots,” Edward said drowsily. “ _Mmm._ ”

They slept for an hour and a half, made themselves presentable, and arrived at dinner to find their retinue nowhere in evidence. Oswald shrugged it off, supposing that Caroline and Vee had gone to one of the cozier restaurants while Gabriel had probably opted for room service and a movie.

Edward enjoyed befuddling their server with the same riddle-gambit he'd used to stump Harvey during his first week working at the GCPD. Oswald seemed charmed and irritated by turns, settling for charmed when Edward made a significant show of finishing three out of four courses.

They went back to the piano bar once Oswald had been defeated by his dessert. Over their gin and tonics, Edward couldn't help but comment on the irony of Elton John ballads as a backdrop.

“You're not even dressed for the occasion,” Oswald mock-lamented. “Pop on a lab coat, and you'd be...” He adjusted Edward's glasses for him, smoothing his navy sweater vest. “What I first saw of you, anyway. Maybe this is how you looked when you met my mother, too.”

“Sorry I didn't tell you on the day Fox returned my things from the lab,” Edward sighed. “Or before.”

Oswald shook his head, waving as if it were of no consequence. “It's just that I...wish I'd been there.”

“Because she described you in such detail,” Edward said, grinning, “I liked her and stayed to help.”

“You liked my mother,” Oswald murmured into his drink, rattling the ice. “I'll bet she liked you.”

“The last thing she said to me was odd,” Edward mused. “She said I'd know you when I saw you.”

“Her default assumption being that I'm as memorable to others as I was to her,” Oswald sighed. “The _real_ reason you knew me was because I was in the paper so much by the time we met, but she...” He broke into that sad, earnest smile. “She couldn't have known that would be the case.”

“You were nobody when I met her,” Edward agreed, taking Oswald's hand. “I was nobody, too.”

“You weren't nobody to my mother,” Oswald said quietly, “and she knew you all of five minutes.”

“I can tell you how the entire exchange went,” Edward offered. “Unless it would be too painful?”

“Some other time, Ed,” Oswald replied. “Save what mystery is left of her for when I need it most.”

Edward assented with a nod, kissing the back of Oswald's hand. “And I will know when you do.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they rose the next morning, the _Serenity_ had been docked in Monte Carlo for several hours. They shared a late breakfast in bed, after which Edward decided he wanted to go for a swim. Oswald sat poolside with one mimosa after another, idly texting with Fish and Ivy.

 _Three days left in this damn month_ , Fish sent. _Counting today. Did you book a return?_

 _No_ , Oswald admitted, on his third drink, watching a drenched Edward, with elbows braced on the pool’s edge, eye him lazily. _Ed’s doing well. We plan to make land-stops further north._

 _All’s quiet in Gotham_ , Fish replied. _More or less. But things aren’t quiet where you are._

“The water’s extremely warm,” Edward suggested. “It might do your leg good if you joined me.”

“Darling, no,” said Oswald, mildly, typing fast. _The situation is under control, Ms. Mooney._

 _Don’t you Ms. Mooney me_ , Fish sent. _But don’t forget who you’re dealing with, either_.

“Is Ivy sending you obscure plant memes again?” Edward asked, climbing out of the pool. “Can I see?”

“It’s Fish,” said Oswald, sticking the phone in his breast pocket. “We can stay longer if you like.”

“I’d like to return to our room,” Edward replied, taking the towel Oswald handed him. “I’ll miss it.”

“Of course,” Oswald said, admiring him as he dried off. “You’ll want to shower. Maybe I’ll join you.”

Edward smirked at him, deft fingers at his waistband dipping beneath the elastic to expose his hipbone.

“I think I understand why you insisted on just rolling out of bed and sticking my hat on your head.”

Oswald sat up, shifting to sit sideways on the deck-chair. He tugged Edward forward by the waist.

“There’s nobody else in this _world_ who’d get me to breathe chlorine for an hour and a half.”

Edward beamed while Oswald secured the towel around his waist, and then helped him to his feet.

Back at the room, he spent the better part of forty-five minutes massaging Oswald’s legs under a full-blast shower while Oswald sat on the heated bench. Oswald tugged Edward to his feet and guided him to straddle his lap, but the bench wasn’t wide enough for what Oswald had in mind.

Edward staggered backward, laughter fading on a moan when Oswald leaned forward and guided Edward’s erection into his mouth. He sucked until Edward went weak in the knees.

“Why don't you take me to bed,” Edward suggested while Oswald toweled him off, “and fuck me.”

To fulfill as direct and alluring a command as that, Oswald did _not_ need to be told twice.

When they caught up with Gabriel and the ladies at dinner, Oswald was relieved to note that Caroline no longer looked shell-shocked by the circumstances of the evening before. She talked about as much as Oswald had come to expect of her.

Edward seemed grateful that he didn’t need to participate.

“Weird,” Caroline went on, savoring her coffee. “Being on the ship while it’s just…sittin’ here.”

“A number of cruise lines leave a port day at the end,” Edward said unexpectedly. “I looked into it.”

“Hey, even _I_ don’t wanna go back to Gotham,” Gabriel confessed. “I could live on this thing.”

“Too claustrophobic,” Vee muttered. “Been nice and all, but I’ve got cabin fever. I miss…business.”

“Then isn’t it convenient,” Oswald said, sardonically, “that a piece of business has come our way.”

“They’re meetin’ us off the boat tomorrow, right, boss?” Gabriel asked. “The—guy with the things.”

“Gal with the things, for all we know,” Caroline said. “But yeah. We know the suitcase to watch for.”

“Arm ourselves at Port Hercule, pay extra for cruise-line transfer to the Gare?” Vee asked, muffling her words behind her napkin. “It’s not that far, and I don’t trust anybody who might be driving cabs in the area. Better to stick with Crystal. None of the ship staff have tried to... _uh_.”

“We might be worried for nothing,” Oswald said. “My contact _here_ hasn’t seen strange activity.”

“The party behind this is camouflaged,” Edward interjected. “They’ve proved difficult to track.”

“If anyone makes a move on either of you, boss,” Gabriel vowed, “the three of us have got ’em.”

“For all of our sakes,” said Oswald, his gaze lingering on Edward, “I very much hope that's true.”

Finding his leg in atrocious condition upon returning to the penthouse, Oswald told Edward that he was in favor of retiring with their respective medications and reading materials. Edward, inordinately pleased, helped Oswald out of his clothes and walked him to the bathroom.

Oswald thought perhaps he knew why. There was a companionable simplicity to swallowing pills and brushing teeth in easy, affectionate silence. He kissed Edward for helping him get settled in bed.

Instead of taking up the book of advanced-level crosswords that Oswald had picked up for him in one of the ship's gift shops, Edward lay down and tucked his face against the sheets at Oswald's hip.

Running his fingers through Edward's hair, Oswald read until the painkillers forced him to retire.

The next time Oswald felt the impulse to yawn and stretch, he opened his eyes to the muted light of dawn filtering through the lattice-work wall. He checked his phone on the nightstand.

Six thirty-one in the morning. There were roughly two hours before they needed to pack and depart.

Oswald tugged the covers back up to his shoulders, rolling over to spoon Edward. He pressed his cheek to the sweat-damp skin between Edward's shoulder blades, wrapping an arm around him.

“G'morning to you, too,” said Edward, faintly, making an exasperated sound. “What time is it?”

“Early,” Oswald replied, startled when Edward fumbled at his wrist and dragged his hand lower. “Oh,” he said, obliging when Edward tried to shove Oswald's fingers beneath his waistband. “I see.”

Edward squirmed, his cock twitching in Oswald’s palm. “Please,” he whispered, guiding Oswald’s hand on him, letting go once Oswald understood the pace and pressure he wanted. “Would you…”

“Like this?” Oswald murmured teasingly in his ear, adding a gentle brush of his thumb over the head.

Edward whimpered, clutching at Oswald’s forearm. “You’re too good to me, you’re _too_ —”

“Nonsense,” Oswald soothed, kissing the side of Edward’s neck, feeling the strain in him begin to give.

For several breathless, drowsy minutes, he stroked Edward and murmured to him about nothing in particular. What a wonderful time they’d had, what a pleasure it was just to _hold_ him.

Edward relaxed, his cry muffled in the pillow, the push of his hips halting as he spilled over Oswald’s fingers. Trembling, he turned in the curve of Oswald’s arm, forcing Oswald’s hand out of his boxers.

Oswald sighed, wiping the mess on the sheets so he could gather Edward close. “How do you feel?”

“I feel like I…don’t want to go back to real life,” Edward mumbled into Oswald’s hair. “Is that…”

“Normal?” Oswald prompted, and Edward nodded. “After a vacation, most assuredly _yes_.”

Edward sighed, some residual tension draining from him as they languidly clung to each other.

“I’ve never been reassured that _anything_ I feel is normal, Oswald,” he said. “Not ever.”

Oswald kissed him. “Normal in the general sense is _not_ something you should worry about.”

“I should be reasonable about this,” Edward muttered wistfully. “We need to get ready to disembark.”

Oswald yawned, aware that they were cuddling to a truly decadent, shamelessly slug-a-bed degree.

“Being reasonable means we get to use that shower one last time,” he said, aiming for temptation.

“It means I can suck you off in that shower one last time,” Edward corrected, frowning when the press of his thigh between Oswald's produced no result. “Are you still in a lot of pain?”

“Not as much as last night,” Oswald reassured him, “but help getting to the bathroom would be nice.”

“Come on,” Edward sighed, crawling over Oswald in an excuse to tickle him as he got out of bed.

He fussed when he couldn't get much response from Oswald's body, although Edward's mouth on Oswald while he washed Edward's hair for him felt heavenly regardless. Oswald kissed his forehead.

After one last breakfast in the main dining room, Edward, Gabriel, and the ladies compiled their collective luggage and led the way off the ship. Port-side customs was nowhere near as strenuous as Heathrow had been, or even what they'd experienced at previous stops. They were cleared.

Oswald kept Edward close as Gabriel marched ahead of them. Caroline and Vee took up the rear.

“That one,” said Caroline, under her breath, as they came into the vast reception area. “Knit cap, looks kinda like an art student. That beat-up burgundy leather valise. Identical to the photo they texted.”

Oswald held his breath, tightening his arm around Edward's as the four of them watched Gabriel approach the young—well, _individual_. Vee insisted they maintain a reasonable distance.

The art student removed their wireless ear-buds, nodded to Gabriel as they stood, handed off the valise, and departed with a muttered _merci_. The ear-buds went right back in as they strolled away.

Gabriel came back with the valise, hefting it as he grinned. “Easy peasy, boss. Where do we kit up?”

“This terminal is equipped with five sets of restrooms, three of which have shower facilities,” Edward said, picking up his thread in the proceedings. “One ought to be less-frequented given its location.”

It would never cease to amaze Oswald that Edward could faultlessly navigate structures on whose blueprints he'd only laid eyes once. They followed him until the trickling crowds thinned and an empty hallway next to several defunct pay-phones came into view.

Even with Vee and Caroline hauling their luggage on carts, no one prevented them from going down it.

“This one's predominantly used by smaller vessels' crews on stop-over,” Edward said, leading them up to a set of side-by-side doors with labels recognizable as restroom signs. “There you are.”

“Ladies first,” Vee said, nodding to Caroline as they abandoned the carts. She took the valise from Gabriel, and they vanished through the right-hand door for less than two minutes.

“This thing's clunky,” Caroline complained as they emerged again, poking at a newly-acquired lump on her belt beneath her open coat. “But it's easy for me to draw and feels fine, so whatever.”

Vee handed the valise back to Gabriel and patted both hips. “Great stuff. I can double up if need be.”

“I'm going with Gabe,” Edward said, holding the men's room door. _Want my knife_ , he mouthed.

“Whereas I'm going in because I need to _use_ said facilities,” said Oswald, following them. Rather than pay any heed to the ill-maintained urinals, he claimed the nearest stall.

The sounds of Gabriel and Edward sorting the remainder of the valise's contents was reassuring.

Only once he'd refastened his clothing and hit the lever to flush did he hear the adjacent stall door swing open. Pushed from within, not pulled from without. Someone was emerging.

He fumbled open the lock on his own door, brandishing his cane in a sheer rush of adrenaline.

Before he understood what was happening, the occupant of the second stall had taken a neat side-step and caught him around the neck with something that _felt_ an awful lot like piano wire.

Gabe gaped in consternation for all of two seconds before raising the gun in his hands. “Let him go.”

Oswald dropped his cane on instinct, hands flying to his neck. His captor released a gruff breath against Oswald's ear, tightening the wire against his windpipe. Oswald's fingernails scraped at it.

Edward, seemingly empty hands poised at his sides, had scarcely moved. He hadn't even blinked.

“You and that Mooney bitch,” said the assailant, voice much lighter in register than Oswald would've expected for someone whose stance behind him felt tall and wiry. “You think you can shut us down Stateside, face no consequence?” The wire bit Oswald in earnest. “ _Devinez encore_.”

Edward put both gloved hands in the air, eyes fixed on Oswald's as he approached in a few strides.

“Take me,” he suggested, drawing something like a laugh from the assassin. “What am I guessing?”

“Idiot,” hissed the voice behind Oswald, as its owner finally yanked _hard_. “It was rhetor—”

Edward lashed out swiftly, switchblade slipping from beneath his sleeve and into his palm in a flash.

Oswald lurched forward into Edward's waiting arms, gasping, even as the assassin slid to the floor with Edward's knife protruding from her eye. He studied the woman for a moment with furious disdain.

“Somethin' tells me we better get outta here, boss,” Gabriel sighed, holstering his weapon. “Fast.”

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Vee said, barging through the door with both guns drawn. “Goddamn it!”

Caroline peered inside, shaking her head. “Want me to pretend I'm maintenance if anybody tries to—”

“Yes,” said all four of the rest of them at once, staring at Edward's improbable, _gorgeous_ work.

“Put her in the stall,” Edward sighed, hugging Oswald tighter against his chest. “Lock it, crawl out.”

“Not it,” said Vee, pressing the barrels of both guns against her nose, smirking knowingly at Gabriel.

“I'm gonna get you back for this, Aragon,” Gabriel warned glumly, waving Edward and Oswald out of the way so that he could heft the body into the stall as per Edward's instructions. “Just wait an' see.”

“Change of plans,” said Edward, kissing Oswald gleefully. “Ditch weapons and head for the airport?”

“You read my mind,” Oswald replied, returning the gesture for all he was worth. “Hungary can wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> As internal timeline goes, for anyone who's curious, [**_When You Find It, Run_**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10605213) ends on January 31, 2016. The ficlets falling between the end of that sequence and the beginning of this one time out like this: 
> 
> February 5, Friday – [**_Until Our Hearts Stop_**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11301147)  
>  February 6, Saturday – [**_Settling_**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11493381)  
>  February 7, Sunday – [**_Restless_**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11516493)  
>  February 8, Monday – [**_Unrelenting_**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11546127)
> 
> Therefore, this sequence begins on February 9th and will move forward over about 3 weeks' time. I'll always make sure to cue the passage of time; keeping track is as much for my sanity as it is for my readers'.
> 
> Dr. Kali is on loan from [**raven_aorla's take on the Zsasz household**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10844019). You'll see more of her.


End file.
